


The Graveyard Girl and The Necromancer

by orphan_account



Category: Last Legacy (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Differing POV, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Toxic Relationships, Sexual innuendos, mention of death in general, mentions of abuse, mentions of past death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Anne is an unlucky girl. First her best friends move across the globe, and then she misses the event she had been looking forward to at Fancon. However, when Anne finds herself following a fellow cosplayer into the Art Showcase hall, she unknowlingly falls headfirst into a life changing adventure.
Relationships: Felix Escellun/Anne Nova, Felix/Player | Cosplayer (Last Legacy | Fictif)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. Felix and Anne And A Bunch of Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING 
> 
> This fic is heavy on sexual innuendos, and there are a few smut chapters (these can be skipped, nothing relevant will be in them.). Generally this fic is rated 16+ due to the sexual jokes and such. Naturally, the smut chapters are rated 18+ 
> 
> WARNING
> 
> This is a rewrite of the story Last Legacy from Nix Hydra's game Fictif. The only character that is mine is Anne, and most of the text is taken directly from game.

**Anne**

I run a hand through my hair, sighing as I back away from the conference room. Of course I missed the _one_ event I _really_ wanted to go to.

I press my back to the door, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

“Well, I guess I could go back to my hotel until the showcase opens…” I muse.

My pity party is cut short as I spot a girl with short hair and an intricate Cosplay weave her way into the roped off Art Showcase.

I stare for a second. Then, I glance around, checking for other witnesses.

…then I follow her inside. 

Immediately, I’m greeted with familiar cardboard cutouts of characters. One in particular stands out—Magister Escell. The internet is obsessed with him, but I couldn’t think less of him if I tried.

As I slowly venture deeper, eyes glued to every poster, cutout, and recreation of items, I see no sign of the other cosplayer I’d initially followed. It’s not like me to break rules, so if I was going to get caught I had hoped I wouldn’t be along.

“Where…--” as I whisper the word, I hear a light _klunk_ , and turn on my heel. There, on the floor at my feet is the Astrolabe Staff—which is a weapon from the game.

…and something compels me to touch it.

…so I do.

There’s a bright white, blinding light that obscures my vision, and suddenly the world is shifting around me. I grow dizzier every passing second, until I finally lose grip on my consciousness completely.

x

What feels like only a few moments later I cough myself awake, weakly rolling over, resulting in my cheek pressed against stone flooring. Looking around, I can see the dark clouds of a storm clearing outside a window, and big white…round lights, dancing around the air. The wind howls eerily as the clouds reveal a reddish moon.

A low, hoarse voice draws my attention, choked with emotion as the person it belongs to speaks as I push myself into a sitting position:

“Five years I have dreamt of this day,” he says, “when at last we would be reunited.”

The man—who has to be my age, maybe a year older—kneels on the floor in front of me. His black hair (which looks like it has a hint of violet) is shoulder-long, and entirely unkempt. He has reddish-brown skin, and startling wintry-gray eyes.

“Yet,” he says, now smirking, “it seems neither fate nor the stars can keep us apart.”

He intertwines our fingers, and a million emotions are reflected in those captivating eyes. He closes his eyes, and continues.

“I never stopped looking for you. I never gave up.”

He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the knuckles. I find my cheeks heating considerably, embarrassment stunning me into silence.

He’s obviously mistaken me for someone.

“Oh, Rime, how I’ve missed you!” he cries.

Not a second after he’s proclaimed this, he wraps me into a hug that feels solidifying, but also as if he were afraid to break me. Whoever it is who he was expecting, they must have meant the world to him.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, gently nudging him off me, “but we’ve never met.”

His eyes widen, and he backs away a little. “what?”

“Um, yeah, no,” I say, a strained smile on my lips as I shake my head, “I…I don’t even know where I am. Or…or if I’m dead or just dreaming—I…” I snap my mouth shut, and sigh, “Sorry. I’m not. Not who you were hoping for.”

He looks at me, eyes widening as his lips press together.

“You’re not Rime.”

I give him a weak smile. “No, I’m not. I’m…Anne.”

He frowns.

“Um…” I glance around, “and I’d actually like to know where on earth I am? And…who you are. If you. If you don’t mind.”

He purses his lips.

“You’re not on Earth,” he shakes his head, “you’re in Astarea.”

My eyes go wide, and I feel my face pale.

“Asta…rea? Like…from Last Legacy?”

“Last Legacy?” he scoffs, “is that some book from Earth?”

I wince, “It’s, ah. Hard to explain. Um. Sure.” I glance at his feet, his face, then out the window as I wrap my arms around my middle, fighting the panic and tears that threaten to spill out.

“First,” he straightens, drawing my gaze as he stands, “how did you get here? That shouldn’t be possible.”

“You’re telling me,” I mumble, then address him as I stand as well, “I was at a convention, in the art showcase. There was this…uh…staff. The Astrolabe—this weapon from the new game which—”

I falter, cheeks warming as I realize I’m about to start ranting.

“…I touched it,” I say, clipped, “and now I’m here.”

He scowls. “Bloody hells.” He sighs. He has a downcast look on his face as he speaks, “Forgive me for my forwardness, but you are not who I was hoping for.”

I shrug, “Yeah, I figured.” I bite my lip. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

He regards me briefly. “You are from Earth?” he asks.

I nod.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It seems I’ve made a grave mistake.” He clears his throat, “Then, I should introduce myself.” He takes a deep breath, holding a hand to his chest. He then bows with a flourish.

“My name is Felix Iskandar Escellun. House unaffiliated. Necromancer—” at the mention of his magical area of expertise, I perk up, immediately intrigued.

“Necromancer?” I ask.

He smirks, “I trust you know at least what that is, no?”

I huff, “Duh,” as I replay his introduction in my mind. Another part of it sticks out. “Escellun…not like, Magister Escell, right?”

He frowns, and I fear I’ve made a mistake.

“Unfortunately yes,” he hums, tapping his finger on his chin, “though he has not been a Magister since before I was born…”

I hum, “I see.” In an attempt to lighten his somber mood, I stand, and promptly curtsie. “I am Anne May Nova. House nonexistent. Barista and freelance Cosplayer, Artist & Writer!~”

He blinks at me, then grins. “Well. Barista, what realm do you hail from again?”

“Realm?” I echo, then realize what he means, and my lips form an ‘o’, “Oh! Um…Earth, I guess?”

The mention of Realms simply solidifies that I’m no longer home.

A white sphere tickles my nose as it passes, making me sneeze. 

My breathing picks up again, panic bobbing beneath the surface as Felix begins to pace anxiously. I clutch at my chest, willing my heart to calm. I’m not sure if I’m scared, or excited—or plain horrified.

_How am I here?_

“Am…am I _dead_?” I ask, “is…is this the afterlife?”

He huffs, eyes focused on the horizon, “is this cesspool truly how you imagine heaven?” he scoffs, glaring at his shoes as he kicks a rock, “mildew, rubble, me—utterly humiliated.” He pauses, then smiles as a slight blush decorates his cheeks. And though his voice drips with sarcasm, he is clearly flustered as he speaks:

“Although, I suppose I should be flattered you discerned anything divine about me.”

I chuckle, brushing hair out of my face with a smile in an attempt to hide my panic.

“This isn’t some afterworld,” he clarifies, eyes focused on me, “simply another realm, like yours.”

I nod, “I see.” I glance around, at the white wisps whispering through the air. “are those…normal here? Whatever they are…”

“Those are spirits,” he explains, “and you can only see and hear them because of my…” he winces, “failed…spell. Normally, only those who’ve experienced death firsthand can see them.”

I hum, gently touching a passing spirit which lights up at my touch. Technically speaking…my heart has stopped before, and had to be “restarted”. I wonder if that counts.

“So…I’m not dead?” I ask.

He shakes his head, “Sleep, and death, the void too, all share similarities,” he shrugs, “but yes, you are very much alive.” He smirks, “take my word for it, as someone who has died once or twice before.”

I quirk a brow, “once or twice?” I question, “I feel like I’m missing details here.”

“you believed me rather quickly,” he says, a little surprised, “how odd.”

I shrug, walking to a nearby balcony, “it’s not unheard of on Earth, no matter how slim the possibility.”

He huffs, following me.

“On an unrelated note,” I muse, “you seem very into death, Felix.” I tilt my head, “that a necromancer thing or…just your morbid self?”

He scoffs, raking a hand through his hair, “Me? Morbid? You insult me, dear Barista.” He shrugs, crossing his arms, “Death has undeservedly bad reputation. People fear what they don’t understand.”

I sigh, “ain’t that the truth.”

He quirks his brow, as if trying to understand which statement I’m referring to, but he shakes his head in favor of explaining, “I simply want to unravel death’s mysteries. Like these decanted spirits!” he gestures to a nearby sphere.

“Decanted?”

“Vestiges of the lingering dead,” he explains.

I nod, “I see…”

Felix wanders to a spirit, cupping his hands around it.

“When my spell malfunctioned,” he says, urging me closer with a nod, “these spirits became visible to all.” 

I come closer, and when I lean in, he opens his hands, revealing an iridescent spirit hovering between his fingers. I can’t fake the awe in my eyes, nor play it off. The spirit is beautiful, and it takes my breath away.

“Ah such beauty,” Felix sighs as I follow the light reflecting off him to his face.

He’s looking at me.

When he sees me notice, he goes very red. He’s quick to add: “the Spirit! Of course! Not…er…” he shakes his head, clearing his throat. “All this is to say, death can be quite beautiful.”

I nod, “It is.” I falter. “Wait, so does this mean you become…light?”

He shakes his head, “not necessarily. Spirits take many forms.”

I smirk, quirking a brow at him, “you’re not a spirit, are you?”

“Not yet,” he says with a dangerous glint in his eyes and a smile. I snort, as his smile disappears, “Spirits are not whole souls,” he continues, and I hang onto every word, “they are more akin to residue…”

“So, like leftovers?”

“Something like that,” he says with a nod. “I’d love to lecture you on the nature of death, souls and spirits, but we have not the time.”

“No?” I ask, a little disappointed, “we could make a little time.”

He smirks over his shoulder as he walks back into the room, “perhaps later,” he says as I follow him.

“did you learn all this at magic school?” I ask, faintly recalling a mention of some academy in the game.

“Indeed, but they did not teach me necromancy,” he explains.

“Why?”

He huffs a laugh, “for the same reason you cannot study arson or thievery.”

I cross my arms, cocking my hip, “it’s illegal.”

“Very.” His smirk falls, and he sighs, “I attended a prestigious academy, but look where it got me. Dredging for the dead in this dreary temple.”

I shrug, “It happens. School’s pretty useless after a certain point anyway.”

Felix seems perplexed at my comment, if his quirked brow and pursed lips are anything to go off. He shakes his head.

“Regardless of school’s usefulness, if my old Professors could see me, they’d have a good laugh,” he says glumly. I frown.

“Well, you’ve clearly got the skills needed to do your own research,” I smile, “not everyone can say that.”

He rolls his eyes, “you flatter me, Barista,” he clears his throat, “in any case—” he glances to the door, then to me, “—those bridges are burnt now.”

“I’m going to assume,” I drawl, “there’s some dumb reason that necromancy is illegal. And a bad stigma around those who practice it.”

“Naturally,” he nods, “many think necromancers are death obsessed egomaniacs who wish to become Liches or immortal.”

“But you’re different.”

He grins, “Naturally.”

I laugh dryly, “if you say so.”

“We should get going,” he says.

“You brought me here,” I say instead, “so you can get me home?”

“Yes,” he nods, then looks away, “maybe. Hopefully.”

I purse my lips, “seems legit.”

To be honest though, I think I’d have nothing against staying here. Something about this world is oddly…welcoming.

“I need your relic to do that.”

“The Astrolabe?” I shrug, “Sure. How do we find it?”

“Find…?”

“It disappeared when I touched it.” I shrug, “no clue where it is.”

He pales, opens his mouth, then closes it.

“That…complicates things,” he mutters, then hums, tapping his chin.

Just then, the door bangs, and shouting is heard as the handle rattles.

“Let’s shed those pesky guards first,” he says, smirking at the door, then at me, “Shall we?”

“are you wanted!?” I ask, a little freaked out.

“Oh no,” he assures me, and I sigh, “simply Trespassing.” I tense again.

“Felix!”

He chuckles, “the storm may have been a tad much, but, ah, I do love a good show.”

“Well,” I cross my arms, “I can respect that.”

He arches his arm through the air, and a circular surface appears. The image within is vague, and I can’t make it out.

“Here, through the Portal.”

I nod, “Right. You know where it goes, right?”

When my eyes meet his, he looks away with a pout. “Yes.”

“So no,” I mutter, then grimace, “excellent.”

“It goes somewhere safe,” he assures me, handing me my bag, seemingly having appeared from thin air, “or to someone. Hurry. It’s difficult to keep open, you know.”

I grab my bag, “Right. Don’t get caught.”

He smirks, “Naturally, I won’t.”

And then I hop through a rippling surface—

And I’m falling.


	2. Anisa Anka's Interrupted Evening

**Anne**

I should have been panicking a lot more, long before now, but only as the cold steel of a woman’s sword touches my chin, do I realize how real this is—and that I could very well die here. The aftertaste of grape doesn’t help calm my nerves either. When I had come through the portal, I’d landed on a table, before falling face-first onto the floor.

(yes, It hurt.)

My heart pounds in my chest as the woman above me speaks:

“Where in the world did you come from?”

The woman has long curly brown hair with pink highlights, and brown skin. She has vivid green eyes that remind me of a cat’s, and the markings on her cheeks don’t help convince me she _isn’t_ one. She’s wearing a blue and pink outfit that looks far more like a costume than Felix’s getup had.

I am about to say ‘Earth,’ when I think better of it. unfortunately, I can’t think of a satisfying answer for her.

“I…uh. Was teleported from. Somewhere.” I wince, “Well, but before that I was on Earth, in this other world—”

“You’re an interloper, from another realm?” the woman gasps, then sheathes her sword.

That was easy.

She backs away, gesturing to an armchair next to the fireplace.

“Sit,” she orders, “tell me your name.”

She bends down to pick up the mess I made as I landed on her desk while I walk to the armchair.

When she finally joins me, I look apologetic, “Sorry for destroying your desk,” I brush my hair behind my ear, “I’m Anne.”

“You may call me Anisa,” she says with a curt, small bow of her head, “I’m a knight lieutenant on assignment in this region. Where did you acquire your Starsworn uniform, Anne?”

I look down, my lips forming an ‘o’ as I trace a golden button on my cloak. Anisa reaches out, running her fingers over the pattern on my cloak.

“I made it,” I explain, “um. For a convention. Where I am from, this world is part of a game. I just made the costume.” The way she looks at the cloak is the same way I look at old pictures of my family—

_Longing_.

“Why?” I ask.

She smiles at me, “you’re very talented.” I shiver as she slowly retracts her hand and she circles behind me. “I thought you may be an elven spy—” as if on queue, my elf ears that were once just fakes, twitch, “--snuck over the Canopus Strait. However your outfit is too ostentatious. And old fashioned.”

I snort, “figures.” I shrug, “Well, I tried.”

“You did well,” she smiles, then hums, “It almost seems like you want to be seen.”

I chuckle, blush rising to my cheeks, “eh,” I shrug, “Only if the reception’s positive.”

Anisa crouches next to me, resting her elbows on the arm of the chair. “So.” She tilts her head, “What did you hope to gain by coming here?”

I hum, flushing under her scrutiny as I play with the braided cord of my cloak, “This uh…mage, uh, Felix teleported me here. To your office, I mean. He said it was safe.”

Anisa hums, evidently unbothered by my stutter, “this world is Astraea,” she explains, “This town, however, is the town of Mournfall.” She blinks slowly, then smirks, “so, why did Felix summon you here?” she pauses, “Astraea I mean.” she props her chin on her palm, smiling slightly. “Are you two in cahoots?”

Immediately, my face is burning and I’m wildly gesturing with hands and head in a ‘no’ fashion.

“What? No, no, no, no! I—I came here by accident! I’ve never met him before now!” I falter, a little sad. “He…mistook me for someone. It was a little awkward. He had this whole speech…”

She stands, “I see. Felix has always been theatrical.” She looks at me, “did you know he’s a Starsworn?”

My eyes widen, “No…I had no idea,” I look at my lap, then to Anisa again, “I presume you are too?”

She smiles, “Yes, I am. He and I are some of the last remnants of the order.”

“Last remnants?” I echo, “what happened?”

Anisa frowns, “a big war five years ago. We are two of the few to survive.”

“That explains why you must’ve been shocked to see me,” I muse. She nods.

“You’re wearing our old uniform amongst the ruins of our last stand, so of course I was surprised.”

I hum as Anisa leans against the fireplace.

“I’d actually like to know how Felix brought you here,” she says after a tense moment, drawing my attention, “it shouldn’t be possible, not anymore.” Her eyebrows draw together, “could this be another of his schemes?”

“Schemes?” I echo, quirking a brow with a smile, “that makes it seem like he’s a villain.” I blink, “you know about Earth?”

Anisa nods, “my mom used to travel there sometimes…she’d tell me stories of it sometimes.” She smiles, “she brought a card of a place called Orr-land-o once.” Anisa clamps her mouth shut, blinking rapidly. As if noticing she’d revealed something personal, she starts blushing. “Ah. I’m sorry. I started to ramble.”

“No, please, go on,” I say, smiling, “Orlando, yeah?”

Anisa pauses, blinks, then nods with a smile. “Yes! Sunny beaches and curious, black and white mouse-man creatures! Oh! And those charming smooth, soft, round sea dragons—”

“Dolphins?” I ask with a chuckle.

She claps her hands, nodding excitedly, “Yes! Ohh! How I’d love to try one. I bet they taste amazing!”

I wince, “Yeah, I uh, wouldn’t do that.” I chuckle, “Though…visiting Florida…that’s so normal.” I stand up, “I honestly can’t relate to that…desire for normalcy.”

“Well,” Anisa huffs, “you live there, so it’s normal for you. I presume.”

“I don’t live in Orlando,” I correct, “but I have been there. It’s normal.”

Anisa smiles.

“So, uh,” I begin, scratching the back of my neck, “thanks for uh. Not stabbing me.”

Anisa’s eyes widen, then she laughs, “oh, Anne! I never meant to scare you. I was just a little surprised. After all, it’s not everyday a pretty lady materializes on my desk.”

I flush, flustered by her compliment. As she flushes, realizing what she’d said, I resist the urge to fight her opinion and simply murmur, “you’re pretty too…”

She smiles. Then she hums. “I take it Felix accidentally sent you here.”

I bite my lip, “I mean. I’m kinda hoping he didn’t just aimlessly send me through a hastily constructed portal to be honest.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, sadly,” she huffs, “he’s powerful, but also lacks patience and common sense.”

I hum. Interesting.

“I’m afraid we’ll need him if we are to send you home though,” she adds.

I feel my mood brighten, and I don’t confess that I was hoping to see him again.

Anisa catches me biting my lips, and smiles, pressing a fist to her chest.

“When I was a child I dreamt of rescuing a Princess. I swear I will see you returned home. I’ve never broken a promise before.”

I laugh, blushing—hard. Very hard.—hiding my mouth behind my hand. I don’t mention not even knowing if I want to go home.

“First things first:” she says, “we oughta find that pesky mage.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door. Anisa calls for the person at the door to enter, and it promptly swings open, revealing Felix—being dragged by two guards. His toes just barely hover over the floor. 

“Speak of the devil,” Anisa grumbles, then brightly adds, “Good evening, Felix. It’s been too long.”

She nods at the guards, and they let go of him. One of them hands Anisa a report as Felix dusts off his shoulders.

“Well met, Annie,” he says, “I hoped we’d reunite under better circumstances…”

“But charges of trespassing will do the trick,” she grimaces, reading the report.

Felix and my gazes meet, and he pouts, glancing away.

“I’ll have you know I meant to get caught.”

I huff, smirking, “Right,” I cross my arms, “just as much as I meant to forget to water my plants back home.”

He looks at me, seeming regretful until he sees my expression—smiling, a brow quirked, eyes sparkling with humor—and he relaxes.

“I’m relieved you are in one piece, regardless,” he confesses.

“Why? Was there a chance I wouldn’t be?” I ask, but as he opens his mouth, I shake my head, holding a palm up to silence him, “Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

He huffs, “portals are simply temperamental. You could’ve landed in some abyssal trench for all I know.”

“s’ that where you landed?”

He rakes a hand through his hair smugly, “a true necromancer never reveals his secrets.”

“it says they found you thrashing in a rosebush,” Anisa clarifies, dryly.

I snort, “graceful.”

“Don’t look smug, Annie,” Felix warns, “it took five of your guards to restrain me.”

“So it says. The healers are working late tonight thanks to you.”

He smiles, “always a pleasure.”

I try to ignore the fact that this implies Felix to be incredibly strong, whether in magical prowess or physical strength is entirely irrelevant.

“Why send me to Anisa?” I ask.

“Magic works in mysterious ways,” Felix shrugs, “I focused on someone safe and here we are.” He smirks, “I admit, I too am surprised. I expected it to lead us to Sage.”

Anisa scoffs, looking offended, “You’d trust Anne with that ale soaked swindler instead of me?” I can’t help the amused grin on my lips as Anisa crosses her arms, “I never knew you thought so low of me, Felix. I’m wounded!”

Felix’s hackles raise when she glares at him. I feel bad for laughing now, and bite my lip as my smile falls.

“So,” I say, turning to Felix, “about sending me back.”

“Right,” he nods, solemnly, “I can’t.”

I furrow my brows, then slowly quirk one, arms crossed. “You brought me here.”

“An _accident_ ,” he corrects, impatiently, “brought you here. One I cannot replicate.”

I nod, “Fair. I can accept that.”

“What do you _need_ , Felix?” Anisa asks, slowly, as if talking to a toddler as she steeples her fingers.

“Months,” he nods this way, “maybe years to replicate tonight’s ritual—”

“how about something a little less vague—and long?” I suggest. He gives me a pointed look, but there’s little to no malice behind it. 

“In that case:” he pauses for dramatic effect, “ _Sage_.”

Anisa groans, “Ugh…that moron? Where would we even find him?” but right as she says this, her eyes widen with clarity—and apprehension.

“The Gull,” Felix says, and she groans, rolling her eyes.

“Ugh. If we must. But Anne should change first—she draws far too much attention this way.” Anisa walks towards the door, “I’ll get you some squire’s clothes. When you’ve changed we can go.”

Anisa leaves before either Felix or I can reply, leaving me to reach out to her, open my mouth, then drop with a sigh.

Silence settles between Felix and me.

“I am truly sorry for…my error,” Felix says eventually, breaking the tense silence, “I will see you home, no matter how long it takes.”

I smile, “I appreciate it, but…it came at a good time,” I look at the floor as I lean against a chair, “I was looking for a kind of…escape plan so,” I meet his gaze with a grin, “Thanks.” I look away, “though I’m sorry you didn’t succeed with your original plan.”

Felix hums, “Yes well,” a deep sigh, “another time, perhaps.” 


	3. A Dangerous Type of Sage

**Anne**

After a quick change into red pants and a white button down, we make our way to a shoddy, shady inn known as the Saucy Gull. My boots, with the glitter and bow on the heel barely stand out next to Anisa’s getup.

As we enter the tavern, I look around hastily.

“Do you see Sage?” I ask them, “What’s he even look like?”

Felix clicks his tongue, arms crossed, “big, scruffy, as likely to kill you as he is kiss you.”

“So, kinda like a hit n’ run kinda guy?”

“Just about—” Felix scoffs at the kitchen area, a hand on his hip now, “—do I spy rat racing? By the kitchen!?”

Just then, several patrons lock eyes with Anisa, who in turn, becomes very flustered.

“H-Hello,” she stutters, “I hear there’s strong spirits to be had.” She forces a wobbly smile, “And, yes, of course, illicit rat racing. My favorite sport.”

She’s so awkward I nearly face palm, when—regrettably—she nudges Felix, urging him to help her.

“Oh dear,” he says in a simping tone, “I believe we’re in the wrong bar. This isn’t the Cheeky Chameleon is it?”

The words leave his mouth, and a tense silence settles in. About five seconds later, someone shouts:

“izzat a knight? We’re busted!”

And chaos erupts.

A fight breaks out, and a woman with a mace attacks Anisa, but she simply side-steps her, then kicks her into a bench, sending both spinning.

Nearby, three thugs approach Felix, who simply opens a portal to an ocean—which they fall through. Smugly, he looks inside and with a wave—“Bon voyage! Enjoy your abyssal trench!”

I notice a guy coming for me and yelp, but Anisa fends him off before he reaches me.

“Go!” she orders, “hide!!”

I nod, running between patrons left and right—

Until I bump into someone’s chest. I look up at a looming man with a bat. He grins at me.

I reach into my cloak, fingers wrapping around the pocket knife I keep on me—just in case.

“S-stay back!” I shout, hoping I sound braver than I feel.

He laughs at me, raising his bat far above his head—

And I duck my head, hands overhead in an attempt to—shield my face? Something or other—but the impact never comes. Instead I hear him grunt in pain.

When I dare to glance up, a man with a long, white braid is in standing front of me, foot poised up. He most likely kicked him, if I had to guess. The man lowers his foot.

“come on,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at me, “follow me if you want to live.”

I grumble, brows furrowed, unimpressed by his dramatic line, as I follow him out of the main room, into a dimly lit hallway.

As the door closes, he turns to me, and eyes my knife.

“My, what a cute toy you’ve got,” he chuckles, “did you plan on poking him to death?”

I huff, pouting, “it’s not meant to kill. It’s for self defense.”

He snorts, “won’t do you much good in ‘ere.” He grins, baring sharp fangs, “but, if you seek protection, I can provide that for yah.” He jabs a thumb at himself.

I look him up and down.

“Um…is there a reason you” I look him up and down again, “—a sellsword? I’m guessing?—is barely wearing any clothes.”

He pouts, “it’s my brand.” He grins, “half the job’s is branding.”

I scoff, “okay, but you look like you’re about to fuck me for coin, not protect me.”

He winks, “I can do that too, if you’d like.”

I groan, averting my gaze, “no thanks, I’d like to keep the last of my innocence, yeah?”

He snorts, and I feel a rush of pride at being able to be considered funny, despite my circumstances.

His ears twitch as the volume in the other room rises.

“It’s about to get ugly,” he says, “you should hide.”

I look up and down the hallway.

“In an empty hallway?”

When I meet his gaze, it’s full of mischief.

“I’ve got an idea,” he hums, “but please don’t get mad.”

And just like that he’s crowded me into the wall in 3 big strides. He places his arm on the wall beside me and murmurs:

“…please. Don’t take this the wrong way.”

I wonder silently what the wrong way is, with our previous jokes.

“So your plan is to pretend we’re…” I quirk a brow at him, “…involved with each other?”

He smirks, “not a fan?”

I cross my arms, resting my foot on the wall, “may be a bit less weird if I knew your name.”

He chuckles, “It’s Sage.”

“Anne,” I nod. Then I bite my lip.

He tilts his head to the side, “you scared?”

I pout, furrowing my brows. “Do I look it?”

He chuckles, “You can’t hide things from me,” his ears twitch, “Fear’s a good thing. It’ll keep you alive.”

I click my tongue, “Luck’s been enough for me so far, but thanks,” I avert my gaze. For a second, we don’t look at each other. He moves a step away from me. My eyes return to his face, focused on the door.

Then the door opens, and he quickly moves to block me from sight of the thugs who walk through, his back facing me.

“Sage, you old dog!” a bandit whistles, “Thought that was you prowlin’.”

“Why the hell’d you kick me in the stomach!” a Crook shouts.

Sage’s ears flatten before perking up again, and I shrink into the wall while he squares up to the thugs.

“You know, you’ve just got one of those kickable stomachs.” He nods away, “Now scram, can’t you see I’m busy here?”

My face flushes, but I avoid speaking by pulling my hair and biting my lip.

“Guards are comin’,” the bandit says, “We thought we might take a trip to their armory, nick a thing or two.” He nods, “we could always use muscle.,” a grin, “‘less you’re too busy necking.”

Sage levels them with a passive look, “sounds like unpaid work. You know I don’t crawl out of bed for less than 10 silver.”

The Crook snorts, “Yeah, but I hear you’ll warm any bed for half a’ that!”

The two thugs laugh, and it sounds a lot like the kind of laugh gross men at my job back home would have. Gross, enough to make your skin crawl and wish you were anywhere but there.

However, Sage’s growl is even more intimidating than their gross laughter.

_“I could kick your asses for free. How is that for a deal?”_

Sage growls—which I feel more than hear—and his smile is more feral than it is friendly.

It works though, and the thugs flinch away—much like my instincts tell me to.

The Crook scoffs, “maybe we’ll tell your old pack where you been hidin’ instead.”

“Yeah!” the Thug says as they back away, “watch your back, fleabag!”

He looks after them, smiling so satisfied I wonder if he _enjoys_ this. He turns his predatory gaze to me, and I flinch away from the full force of it’s red intensity. It’s red and glaring and shakes me to my core. He seems to notice what he looks like, and his eyes widen before fading back to liquid gold.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, screwing his eyes shut.

I swallow thickly, then, braver than I feel, and voice a little shaky, “what for? Saving me?” I shake my head, pushing off the wall and past him, “don’t apologize for being kind.”

He blinks, eyes wide in shock as I pass him by. Then I think he smirks, as he is as he catches up to me. He undoubtedly sees my shaking hands.

“You’re weird.”

For a second, he sounds like a girl from my high school—‘you’re weird’ I’d heard her say all too often. I smile.

“So they say.”

Suddenly I remember why I’m here.

“Anisa and Felix are looking for you,” I say, turning my gaze to Sage. I watch as his ears flatten, and he averts his gaze.

“Felix and Anisa came here? To see me?” he clicks his tongue, “idiots. May as well have doused themselves in blood and sat on a cockatrice’s nest.”

Though I know what a cockatrice is from the last game, the comparison is a bit odd.

“A dangerous thing to do,” I note. He nods.

“I’m not the type you want to hang around.”

I roll my eyes, “I could say the same, y’know.” I shrug, smiling, “hasn’t kept certain people from hanging around anyway. Anisa and Felix probably don’t care about how dangerous you are.”

There’s a brief silence in which he regards me with a neutral look. Then he smiles.

“And you?”

I smirk, tilting my head, “The jury’s still out.”

He huffs a laugh, brushing past me, “Well then. Guess I got nothin’ to lose, eh?”

I grin, jogging after him. 


	4. Felix and Anne and Anisa and Sage

**Anne**

By the time night falls on Mournfall once more, we’ve returned to Anisa’s study, ready to discuss the plan for returning me home. Felix establishes that a relic—presumably the Astrolabe—has taken residence within me, and I was asked to choose a mentor.

It was a no-brainer who I’d choose, being a sucker for magic, and having clicked with him so quickly.

(I chose Felix.)

It was pretty much unanimously decided that my first day would be dedicated to getting me some clothes. That was the priority, as I couldn’t walk around in what is essentially a knight’s underlayers.

After a quick breakfast with Anisa in the barracks, we venture out to the marketplace, where Sage and Felix are waiting.

“Are you two coming as well?” I ask, a little surprised. Sage huffs.

“We have our own errands,” he shrugs, “well. Felix does. I’m just browsin’.”

Felix huffs, “didn’t you say you spent all the money I gave you?”

Sage grins, “Who says I’m payin’?”

Anisa sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as Felix shrugs in a ‘fair enough’ gesture.

“We’ll accompany you,” Felix tells me, “but Annie will be the one helping you pick out clothes.” He smiles, “the cost is on me, so don’t hold back.”

I flush, “What? I can’t—that’s not necessary.”

Felix shrugs, “there’s not much above my budget in this dreary town. So please. Help yourself,” he says, handing me a pouch.

I pout, “I’m not winning this one, I presume?”

He smirks, “you have little choice, Barista.”

I sigh, taking the pouch. It’s heavy.

“Well then,” Anisa claps her hands, “are we ready?”

I nod, pocketing the satchel, “Ready. Let’s get moving.”

Xxx

As Anisa and I peruse stands of clothing, Anisa asks questions about earth.

“Is it true that there is no magic? Anywhere?”

Her question makes me chuckle quietly, “Not in the way you have here, no.” I pick up a cute hairpin of cheap metal, painted to look expensive, “if you look for it, you can find magic in mundane things, like thunderstorms, or sunrises. We have witchcraft, but you can’t really…see it?”

“How do you mean?”

“well, you can cast spells for protection, and love, or sleep, but there’s not really a way to prove it works…it all relies on your belief, and your intent. We have divination, and it’s fairly popular.”

Anisa scoffs, “don’t let Felix hear that. He doesn’t trust in such things.”

I laugh, shaking my head, “why does that not surprise me?”

Anisa laughs as we head towards the vendor to pay for our finds. I hum, wondering to myself if I would be able to do tarot readings here, like I do at home.

“What are you laughing about?” when I hear Felix’s voice I am torn from my thoughts, and realize we’ve joined him and Sage at a weaponry booth. Sage doesn’t seem too impressed with the vendor’s display.

“oh, nothing!” Anisa giggles, waving him off, “just a little girl on girl talk!” she winks at me. I chuckle.

“You know,” Felix crosses his arms, “that could be just about anything.”

“We know,” Anisa says with a grin. Felix rolls his eyes, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips.

“We were talking about magic on earth,” I tell him, gaining his attention, “and how you can’t really see it in action, and it’s based on if you believe in it or not.”

He quirks a brow, “and do you?”

I smile, “yeah. I’ve always loved stories involving magic, so, naturally, once I found out I could practice it, I did.”

“It’s not common knowledge?” Anisa asks.

“No,” I shake my head, “many think you’re working with the devil, or that you’re just imagining it, and it’s fake.”

Felix huffs, “they’re fools.”

“They are,” I nod, “On Earth, magic is in everything—nature, people, objects—but from what I can tell, magic here is more like a tool. Like with tools, it all boils down to how you use it since…you know. Tools aren’t inherently good or bad.”

I look up from my feet, finding Felix’s face, and feeling a swell of pride at seeing his smile, and sparkling eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Sage beats him to the punch.

“So you’re saying there’s no good or bad magic,” he averts his gaze, “but there’s exceptions, right?” 

I frown, feeling annoyed at how often I’ve heard that argument.

“No,” I say, leaving little room to argue, “no exceptions.” I shake my head, “let’s go to the next place. I think I saw something interesting over there.”

And with that we expertly avoid an argument—thank gods.

**_Felix_ **

We end up having lunch in the forest near the barracks with food bought at the market. Before joining us, Anne announces, she’ll change into her new clothes. As we unload our bag of food for our picnic—which was Anne’s suggestion—we fall into conversation.

“She seems nice,” Sage hums. At the confused looks we shoot him, he clarifies: “Anne.”

Anisa smiles, “she is. Passionate too. Though it takes a bit for her to start talking…”

“She’s talkative once given a chance,” I say, sitting down on the blanket Anisa had laid out, “I think she just doesn’t know how to take that chance if not offered to her.”

Anisa hums with a nod, “you’re right. When you asked her about what she does, she talked about her books for half an hour.”

“Are you complaining?” I ask, taking a roll, “I thought her stories were quite interesting.”

“Agreed,” Anisa grins.

“What’re you all talking about?”

Anne’s voice cuts through the air from a distance, drawing our gazes to see her approach.

She was tall before but with the added height of her new boots she is even taller. She’s wearing an outfit of pinks and reds—a dark red sleeveless turtleneck, over it a pale pink off the shoulder blouse, a brown-red corset, pale red pants and brown boots.

She looks cute.

The jewelry I’d found and wanted to gift her as an apology for bringing her here sits heavy in my pocket. A necklace set. I don’t even know if she’d like it.

I don’t even know why I feel the need to apologize.

Something was tugging at me to apologize, but since meeting yesterday we haven’t had the chance to talk alone, and I don’t fancy the idea of Annie and Sage teasing me over it.

“Felix?” the sound of my name on her lips tears me from my thoughts, and I flinch.

“I..yes? My apologies, I was…” I bite my lip, “deep in thought.”

“Right,” Sage purrs, “ _thought_.”

His tone is enough to know he is implying I was checking Anne out, and based on her suddenly very red cheeks as she crosses her arms and looks away, as well as Anisa’s eye roll, we all know it.

“Can you not be irritating for five seconds,” I scoff, rolling my eyes, reaching for the can of tea.

Sage simply grins. “Nah. You’re fun to tease.”

Anne slowly sits down on the blanket between Anisa and me, biting her lip furiously, face still very red. She seems…uncomfortable.

“You look good in that!” Anisa says with a smile.

Anne blinks, then smiles, “Thank you. I’m pretty happy with my choice too,” she laughs. The wind ruffles her hair, and I look away.

_Why?_

Somehow Anne had managed to start a conversation about fighting styles, and caused Sage and Anisa to launch into a full discussion about it. I sigh, wondering still why I felt like I had to look away from her.

“Are you alright?” I turn to the source of the voice—Anne—with wide eyes, only to find her leaning towards me, her head tilted to the side, “you look anxious.”

I feel my cheeks warm at her curious gaze—at her concern for me—and clear my throat.

Someone’s observant.

“I’m fine,” I cough, “you need not worry about me, Barista.”

She hums, frowning, scanning me, then giving a small smile and a nod.

“Okay,” she says, leaning back, “if you say so.”

She returns her focus to Sage and Anisa, who have somehow begun sparring.

Anisa lands a hit on Sage (to no one’s surprise), and Anne laughs excitedly, clapping.

“That was amazing! You’re so fast! Both of you!” Anne comments. Anisa puffs out her chest with a satisfied smile, while Sage grins wolfishly.

“Maybe you should learn some basic moves too,” Anisa suggests, a hand on her chin, “just in case.”

“In case I can’t use magic?” Anne questions, then quirks a brow, “so…if I run out?”

“Yes, exactly,” I nod, “but also if you can’t do it, having a backup plan in case of an emergency.”

She frowns, and I realize I probably should’ve phrased it differently as I watch her deflate. Luckily, Annie is quick to come to my rescue—

“He means,” she says, placing a hand on her shoulder, “that magic is difficult, and a lot of people struggle in the beginning. So, in case that’s the case for you…” she shrugs.

Anne straightens, a strained smile on her lips—apparently it’s enough to fool Sage and Annie—as she nods.

“Right. Yeah. That’d be good, then.”

Anisa and Sage grin, beginning to work out a schedule immediately, and missing entirely the worried furrow in her brow, and the way she bites her lip.

It makes me wonder what I said to make her suddenly worry so much—

But then she catches me staring, and gives me a big, honest smile.

My slight anxiety calms slightly, my posture relaxing, but I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking.

Xxx

We decide to start magic lessons the following morning, dedicating the rest of the afternoon to simply talking. As it turns out, Anne has quite the interest in our world as a whole.

“I was a story driven player,” she says, hugging her knees, “so I didn’t get in on a lot of lore outside of theories, so…tell me about your cultures!”

And just like that, Sage started talking about his culture, and Anisa talked about growing up in a port town. Anne interjected here and there with her own stories about…being a woman of color, and Jewish, with vitiligo. All words I hadn’t heard of before, really.

In all of their excitement I felt little need to interrupt—except for a snarky remark here and there—as I was content simply listening.

“What about you, Felix?”

Anne’s question catches me off guard a little. I blink, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“Are you from here?” she asks, head tilted. Ah.

I clear my throat, “I was born here, but my family is Velan.”

She hums, “I see…can you speak it?”

I smirk, proud as Anisa rolls her eyes at my reply, “My dear Barista, I speak many more languages than Astraean and Velan.”

Anne’s eyes round to saucers, “Really!? that’s so cool!” she leans back on her hands, “Learning Languages is hard. I myself only speak two.” She pouts, “school tried to teach me a third, but…” she laughs nervously, “I’m kind of a lost cause in school settings. I need one-on-one classes if I am to learn anything,” she shrugs.

“I see,” I hum, absent mindedly. I make a mental note of that.

“My mom’s from America,” Anne continues, “a really big country across the ocean from where my dad lived, in Germany. I grew up in Germany but spoke both languages growing up,” she grins, “I spoke English much better than either of my siblings, though.”

She chuckles, as do Anisa, Sage, and myself.

Not long after we begin to finally pack up and back our way to our respective rooms for the night. I however, find myself in the study with Anne, looking to pick out a few books to scour for some beginner spells to teach her.

I was far more excited about a chance to teach someone than anything else, if I am being frank. Even if the situation that led to it was…less than favorable.

And just like that I’m thinking of Rime again…and of how I failed him.

“Are you ok?”

The soft question makes me open my eyes and lift my gaze—finding Anne standing in the doorway, holding and armful of blankets.

“What? Ah, yes. I am. Alright.” I clear my throat. “Why?”

“You seemed spaced out,” she shrugs, sitting down beside me, “um. In a. Sad way, I guess.” She bites her lip, eyes scanning me softly, “I don’t know what you’re thinking but. You have people who care about you, and worry for you. Sage, and Anisa…”

“And yet you’re the only one to pick up on it.”

The words come out of my mouth before I can even process thinking them, and it leaves her wide eyed and blinking.

“I—” her face darkens in color, a blush decorating brown cheeks, “I’m just. Very perceptive. And I—” she chokes on her words, grip on her blankets tightening. “I…know that expression. Cus’ I’ve done it. a lot.”

I quirk a brow, pursing my lips, “and what expression may that be?”

Her shoulders sag, a sigh leaving her lips.

“Sadness,” my breath catches, “loneliness. Incredible…crushing loneliness.”

My eyes widen.

In the last 5 years there hasn’t been anyone who managed to read me that easily…Anisa and Sage would never come close, and the last one who was capable of it—

My breath catches.

“I—” my voice comes out as a squeak, and I clear my throat, cheeks burning.

I am stunned. Her eyes are full of compassion, and concern, and they make it hard to breathe, suddenly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sigh. “It’s gotten late,” I look over my shoulder at her, “I best be going. You should…get some sleep.”

She pauses, blinking at me. then, she smiles, giving a curt nod. She moves out of the door.

“Sleep well,” I say, walking for the exit.

“You too,” she says as I place my hand on the doorframe. At the sound of her voice I pause, looking over my shoulder at her.

She’s smiling, a small little smile, as she sets the blankets on the couch.

She’s surprisingly pretty, drowned in candle and moonlight.

I clear my throat, nod curtly, then hurry out of the study, which is suddenly very much too warm.


	5. The Space Between

**Felix**

“Felix, how old are you?”

I blink, slowly looking at Anne. She sits across from me, having changed from her training gear into a simple button down dress with an apron. She’s sitting on her knees on her chair, face in her palm.

“That is random,” I say, quirking a brow. I close my eyes, “I’m 26.”

She snorts, “Old.”

I scoff, “I can’t be that much older than you.”

“You’re not,” she says, pushing back and sliding to sit properly, though she still leans back, palms pushing against the table, “I’m 24. 26 just sounds so old.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m so glad we established that.”

“I just—” she says in a panicked tone, “I just was thinking that I don’t. know a whole lot about you, but,” she bites her lip, then timidly, “I want to. To know.”

I feel my cheeks burn, and I bite my lip.

“July 13th.”

Anne perks up, taken aback. “Huh?”

“My birthday,” I clear my throat, “it’s. July 13th.”

Anne pauses. Slowly a grin splits across her lips.

“April 10th. Is my birthday.”

I give her a crooked smile, “I’ll be sure to remember it.”

She laughs, “great! I need to write yours down, or I’ll forget.” She scrambles to find a quill.

I nod, avoiding telling her that I am currently doing the exact same.

Xxx

Anne isn’t dumb.

She is not stupid, or slow. She’s actually quite witty, and smart.

I’ve never seen someone so adept at understanding magical laws and rules, much less someone who caught onto the technicalities of Spellwriting with such ease.

Once she learns how to cast spells, she will become a powerful mage—that much anyone can tell.

But right now she’s somehow found a guitar, and is playing it in the courtyard for a group of squires. I was heading back from the cafeteria with a plate of scones and a pot of tea, and had spotted her on my way. The song must be from Earth. I think.

_“So you wanna play with magic,  
Boy you should know what you're fallin' for.  
Baby do you dare to do this?  
'Cause I'm comin' atcha like a dark horse.”  
  
“Are you ready for, ready for  
A perfect storm, perfect storm?  
'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine.”_

“She’s an excellent singer.”

Anisa’s voice—seemingly suddenly beside me—surprises me so much I visibly flinch. She suppresses a laugh.

I huff, turning my gaze to watch Anne, playing below us in the courtyard.

“She is,” I agree, “she’s generally a creative person.”

“And honest,” Anisa adds, “she can’t hide what she’s thinking, so it’s entertaining to see her try.”

I shake my head, “a bad trait when dealing in politics.”

“Unfortunately.”

…

By now, Anne has begun to sung a different song.

_“No one ever made me feel as small as you did,  
No one made me feel as cursed. _

_I'd lie awake in bed just staring at the ceiling,  
Wondering if things would get worse.”  
  
“I was trapped under your thumb,  
Believing when you called it love.”  
  
“But I will forgive myself,  
And start to let it go.  
Accept that who you chose to be,  
Was out of my control.  
And though it might be hard,  
To begin again,  
I'll write myself a brand new story,  
With a happy end.  
I survived,  
So tonight,  
I am taking back my life.  
And I'll show you  
That I am not nothing.”_

The amount of emotion she pours into every word has my heart stopping and breath catching, and I can’t help but think she means every word.

She’s a happy person, though I begin to doubt that that comes from having a happy life.

Xxx

When she enters the study later, I nearly don’t mention it.

…something urges me to, though. So I do.

“I heard you singing to the squires today,” I note, offhandedly.

She turns her head to me, “You did?”

I nod. She bites her lip, nerves visible, “What did you think?” she asks.

“You’ve a very good singer,” I say, “not many folks can convey emotion quite that well.”

She blinks, then flushes deeply. Her shoulders hitch up and she bites her lip, deadset on not looking me in the eyes.

“Thanks,” she says, curling a strand of hair around her fingers, then bringing it to her lips.

She can’t take a compliment.

…it’s…cute.

I smile a crooked smile, “You’re welcome.”

I hesitate.

I look to her, “…does that last song…carry any anchors in reality?”

She blinks, then lets her posture slump, dropping her hand and releasing her hair. “It does. I didn’t write the song, but it does apply.”

I hum. “You need not elaborate if you do not wish.”

She shakes her head, shrugging with a deep breath, “It was just…a toxic partner. It’s…I ended it last year.” She chuckles, “God. Those were the longest 3 years of my life.”

I hum, “I am sorry you had to deal with them. You deserve far better.”

I close the book I had been flipping through and take my bag. “Well, it’s getting late, so I should be on my way—”

“Thank you.”

When I look up at her she’s clutching a book to her chest, a line of tears shining in her eyes. She looks incredibly vulnerable, but endlessly thankful as well. Her smile is so gentle I feel myself frozen in place for a moment.

Then I feel my face heating, and I avert my gaze.

“Of course. I’ll…take my leave now.”

And I quickly exit the room.

Xxx

Anne is funny and witty, and she and Sage become friends quickly.

However she also seems to slightly alter her personality based on who she is with.

With the squires she is reserved and polite. She tells stories and gives advice—much like she is around kids in town.

With the knights at the post, she is polite and never meets their gaze. She looks…scared, almost. Which is odd, considering I know she doesn’t have a criminal bone in her body.

She got anxious after she accidentally stole a water bottle back on Earth, for crying out loud.

With Anisa she is quiet but cheerful. She cracks jokes and gives her compliments. With Anisa she is honest but also…cautious. I think she is intimidated by Anisa.

With Sage she cusses and makes dirty jokes. She is competitive and enthusiastic. She’s touchy and often can be found leaning on him.

When she spars…she’s focused, eyes seemingly to flit all over her opponent’s body searching for weak points. She’s sarcastic and sassy, using any chance she gets for a quip and a smug smirk.

It’s fascinating to watch her spar—far more elegant than Sage, but much less refined than Anisa. She jumps around like she can’t stay still, enjoying the challenge they pose.

With me…

She seems to be all of these. She is cautious and polite, yet also bold and sarcastic. She compliments me—not as obvious as Anisa, but I recognize them nonetheless. She’s competitive and loves the challenge magic poses—

But it also greatly annoys her.

She tries to hide how much she’s doubting herself when she can’t cast a spell, or land a hit—and it fools Anisa and Sage.

But I see her scowl at her hands when she thinks no one is looking. I see her when she furiously attacks the training dummies. I hear her shout lyrics in the forest, screaming her heart out.

But I never ask.

These moments feel private, and I feel like an intruder. I feel guilty and hate myself every time I find myself unable to turn away—

Especially when she angrily attacks the dummies. I can’t seem to look away when she glares at it, eyes cold and filled with rage. I can’t seem to look away from her flushed skin, and from the beads of sweat gathering there.

It feels like I’m spying, and the guilt nearly crushes me.

My chest hurts when I see her hide her tears when Anisa, Sage and I enter the room. She is surrounded by people, and yet…

She seems so lonely.


	6. Anne & School

**Felix**

Anne is creative.

She’s creative, smart and passionate. All key things when it comes to magic.

And yet…

After 3 full days, she hasn’t mastered a single spell yet.

…and it’s wearing on her.

On the evening of the third day, she is poking at the open book, a pout on her lips. Though the sight is amusing, I can tell she’s struggling to remain optimistic.

I hate being of no help.

The following morning, she isn’t in the study when I arrive.

I purse my lips, dropping my bag on the chair before heading out of the study in search of her.

I start in the courtyard, where Anisa is surveying the squires’ training.

“Annie!” I call out, probably sounding a little more desperate than I intended.

“Felix,” her eyes widen, “good morning.”

“Good morning,” I glance around, “have you seen Anne?”

“Anne?” she licks her lips, “I haven’t, but she usually takes a walk down the forest path after breakfast. You could try there.”

I pause, then nod, humming.

“Right. Thank you,” I spin on my heel, heading for the forest.

Xxx

I find her sitting in a clearing, on a tree stump, poking the soft patch of earth with a stick. There’s an impressive pout on her lips, brows furrowed.

“You found me,” she mutters, looking up as I approach, then, with a sarcastic drawl and the roll of her eyes, “miss your star pupil already?”

She turns back to glare at the dirt, and I huff.

“yes,” I say, making her pause, “believe it or not, you’re a far better student than Sage.”

She snorts, quirking a brow, “oh? Even though I haven’t managed a single spell?”

I shrug, “you’re new to this world, and magic is hard to master. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

“Bet it was easy for you,” she grumbles. I don’t give her an answer—she’s right.

“What happened?” I ask, “you were so excited to learn, and you’re giving up already?” I shake my head, “seriously, you can’t—”

**_“I’m not giving up!”_ **

Her voice is loud, filled with rage I haven’t seen her direct at a  _ person _ , and when I meet her eyes, she’s glaring at me coldly, and I feel myself rooted to the spot.

Her anger is an ocean, the waves threatening to consume me in their entirety.

“what _happened_ ,” she says, voice a little less than a sneer, “is I’m reminded I will never be _gifted_. That every skill I learn will come at the price of _blood_ , and _sweat_ , and **tears**. I am reminded of the fact that I will _always_ have to work 5 times harder to get the bare minimum, because my brain is _broken_ and there is **no** _cure_.”

Her voice breaks, emotion staining her impressive speech.

“Nothing comes without practice,” I say cautiously, “but…you know that. You said it yourself, two days ago.”

Her tense shoulders go lax with a sigh, “yes. Nothing in life comes without trying first…but most people don’t need 15 tries to get them up that first step.” She grasps her arms, nails digging into the fabric of her blouse, “I  _ never _ get to be good at things. I am only ever  _ okay _ at them. I never get to have good grades, or learn like a  _ normal _ person. I need  _ special treatment _ , and I’m  **_tired_ ** of having to fight for my life for a  _ crumb _ of success!”

Again, her voice cracks, and tears line her eyes. I am stunned into silence by her outburst—which is still not concluded.

“Every time I try to learn, I need 15 different tricks and shortcuts to stay on track, because my dumbass ADHD brain doesn’t know how to be  **NORMAL** !”

She drops her head into her hands, and her rant finally comes to a close.

Silence.

For an entire minute, there is silence.

“I have never been naturally good at anything, since magic,” I say carefully, quietly.

She lifts her head slightly.

“and, to be fair, being gifted at conjuring magic doesn’t mean I had a talent for the rules of the craft. I could conjure magic, yes, but on accident, or as an emotional response. It took time to conjure it at will, and refrain from it when emotionally charged. And…I am still a far worse spellwrite than you.”

I kneel down in front of her.

“I will not pretend to know how you feel…how this situation feels, but I will tell you that no one has ever found magic simple.” I falter. “Well, aside from my father, who some say forged a pact with a demon to become so powerful.”

This is apparently incredibly funny to her—enough so, at least, to elicit a chuckle.

I smile; I’m glad I could cheer her up somewhat.

“I promise you,” I say, “you will learn to conjure magic. You will learn the rules, and how to use your magic. I feel it burning within you, brightly, and I  _ know _ you will be able to channel it. Your passion, and your creativity will be  _ paramount _ to that. So…  _ please _ ,” I meet her gaze—her eyes wide and cheeks flushed—and I whisper, “Trust me on this.”

For a moment, she’s silent, lips parted slightly, eyes shining.

And then she smiles. And she nods.

“okay,” she nods, closing her eyes, “I trust you.”

I smile, relief making my shoulders relax. “Thank you.”

A beat of silence.

“Do you have any idea of why you may be struggling to cast magic?” I ask, “since…you clearly understand the principles.”

For a few seconds, there’s silence. I open my mouth to reassure her that she need not answer, but she raises a hand, cutting me off—

“Give me a moment,” she says, “I need to organize my thoughts.”

I nod, knowing the feeling all too well.

“It’s…I’m scared I won’t succeed. That I’ll just waste your time…that fear of failure…has always held me back.”

I frown, “You’d never be a waste of time.”

She smiles, “Thank you.” she wrings her hands, then drums them against her knee, obviously considering something.

“May I ask you something?” I say. She blinks, nods. “You mentioned something…about an incurable disease?”

“ADHD?” she questions, lips quirking. I nod.

“That,” I stand up, “do you…want to explain what that is?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh! Oh, yes, of course,” she scoots to the side, tapping the space beside her, signaling me to take a seat.

I do.

“ADHD is an acronym for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. It basically means that I have trouble directing where how much of my attention goes, and I’m hyperactive in one way or another.” She starts drawing in the dirt with her stick, “there’s more to it but the basic principle is that I don’t get to decide what I put all my focus on, and it depends on what I find most interesting. Basically, it makes school hell for me. ADHD is different for everyone, but with the type I have, all my hyperactivity is mental. This means I’m always thinking, and I can’t turn it off.”

She presses her lips together, “It’s a disability like any other—like blindness or being deaf—and impacts my life to a…” she chuckles, “a pretty big degree. It’s invalidated by folks a lot though. It’s…perceived as laziness. Um, it also comes with RSD—rejection sensitive dysphoria—which makes receiving rejection or critique impossible without breaking down in tears or self doubt…”

She blinks, looks at me, then flushes. At this point I’ve unconsciously started leaning closer, hanging onto every word.

“I’m sorry,” she bites her lip, “I’ve been rambling…there’s a lot to ADHD.”

“I can tell,” I huff, leaning back, “I do not mind. I like hearing your thoughts. And I’d like to learn more.”

She bites her lip, “…we still have magic lessons to do…”

I wave her off, “we can wait on that until tomorrow, the one day won’t make a difference,” I lock eyes with her, “So please…continue.”

Her eyes widen, then crinkle at the corners as she smiles.

“Well. in that case,” she straightens, “ADHD is caused in part by a lack of dopamine—the thing in our brains that says doing a task will be rewarding. People with ADHD have less of that by default, so doing tedious or boring tasks are…difficult.”

The more she talks about these issues, the more I recognize myself in them.

…I do not know how I feel about it.

Xxx

We are sitting on the couch in the study, and I don’t know how it happened, but Anne somehow got me to start talking about languages, of all things, for nearly 20 minutes.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” I say, flushing as I reign in my opinions on linguistics in schools. “This must make no sense…”

“No, no!” she hastily exclaims, a hand flying to my shoulder, “it’s really interesting!”

“It’s not stupid?” I question, quizzically, “to be so invested in linguistics?”

She shakes her head, “of course not! If it interests you it’s not stupid.”

I bite my lip.

“ _ Stop talking about petty linguistics,” Escell scoffs, “the only reason you need a variety of languages is for business purposes. You need not know the boring histories or developments of the languages you speak, boy.” _

__

_ “I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” Sage groans, “can’t you have normal interests? Like I don’t know, fucking fiction books?” _

__

I know Sage means no harm, but that does not lighten his words that still sting in the back of my mind.

“I grew up with people calling my interests dumb,” Anne muses, drawing me from my thoughts, “so…I know the feeling…thinking you need to reign ‘em in cuz it’s dumb,” she looks to me, drawing her knees to her chest, “So. I’m here to tell you that I think it’s interesting. And you should definitely keep talking.”

For a moment I am stunned into silence. Her unconditional support, it…is not something I am used to.

But I appreciate it more than she could ever know.

I smirk, “Very well. but do not say I did not warn you.”

“Yes sir!” she mockingly salutes.

…a warmth boils in my abdomen.

Xxx

Anne is an open person, but I note that she doesn’t bring up things if they aren’t the topic of conversation—proven by the fact that it’s the 5 th day of her stay here, and Annie and Sage still are unaware of her ADHD.

It’s a strangely…positive feeling…being the one person she confided that information it—it makes my heart flutter and cheeks burn.

Even though I know she only told me because I asked.

Throughout the days, I find myself gravitating towards her, and winding up having conversations lasting well into the night. Mostly about magic and ADHD, though sometimes about far less relevant topics, like moral codes and theater and fashion and cultures.

And I find myself weirdly interested in her sparring sessions with Anisa outside the study.

Today is one of the mornings where I find myself watching her spar, as opposed to planning our lesson.

Anne is wielding a quarterstaff, and lands a surprisingly powerful blow on Anisa. As the fact sinks in that she startled Anisa—though not breaking her defenses—a satisfied smirk decorates her lip, and the sight of that, as well as the sweat trickling down her neck has me feeling hot myself, a warmth coiling in my stomach.

“Enjoying the view?”

“AHH!”

Sage’s voice suddenly tears me from my…observing, and I reflexively shriek, flinching as far away as I can get without jumping across the room.

“ _ Sage _ ,” I hiss, clutching my chest, “what in the hells— _ where _ did you come from!?”

He blinks, expression blank. “The door,” he nods back, then regards me with a smirk, “the better question is, what’re  _ you _ looking at?~”

I flush, glaring at the wall, “I was…observing.”

“Right. Observing Anne’s butt I bet.”

The grin on his face is decidedly wolfish, and I scoff in disgust.

“What?! No! I’m not  _ you _ , Sage.”

I was looking at her neck, after all.

And I find myself thinking about having my hands around her neck, and how cute she’d sound trying to beg—

_ Wait. What? _

Sage’s chuckling thankfully distracts me from my…unexpected thoughts. However, now I  _ know _ I’m blushing.

“You’re checking her out,” he purrs.

I pout, crossing my arms. “Am not.”

“You like her,” he states. It’s not a question.

“She’s kind,” I reply, “and passionate and fun. She doesn’t…”  _ make fun of me _ , “disregard me.”

_ She makes me feel safe. _

“She’s pretty funny,” Sage agrees with a nod, “Anisa and I like her too.”

_ Like _ .

I wonder why she seems lonely, at times, when she seems to get along with everyone she meets.

“I need to research,” I mutter, “be quiet or leave.”

Sage growls at me, “fine. Then I’ll just go spar with them.”

And then he’s gone.

The only sound is the distant sound of wood clashing against wood, and Anne’s exclaims of exhaustion.

I’m not really reading the book I open when I sit down, thoughts of Anne consuming my mind and serving a welcome distraction.

Xxx

I tried to avoid Anne, after my earlier thoughts involving her neck and my hands had left an…impression.

Regrettably, three hours later, I can’t avoid her, as Anne and I are sitting in the study together, and Anne is trying to get the same feather to float she’s been working with since last night.

“I can’t do this.”

Her voice cuts through the quiet, accompanied by a groan, and I can’t help but offer a half smile at her outburst. 

“Well, well, well, I had not imagined my apprentice so easily flustered.” I hum, resting my head on my knuckles, “Do not give in to frustration. Naar Vilar was not built in a single day.”

“That’s a place, I’m presuming?” she gives me a playful smirk, and eyebrow quirked.

“Correct. It’s a Velan saying,” I close my book, easing off my glasses, “have patience, dear Barista. You will harness your magic.”

**Anne**

“Have patience, dear barista. You will harness your magic.”

He says that, and I can’t help but genuinely believe him.

I hum, “Was it hard for you?”

He hums. “Well, I was practically born slinging spells. Though, that is on account of my…unusual birth,” he shakes off my confused look with the shake of his head, “but that does not mean I understood the practice and laws of it. On that account, you are further ahead than most mages. You are a far better spellwrite than me, for example.”

I hum, tapping my lip.

“However,” he says, smiling now, “in my second year I gave my caretaker quite the scare. Dear Anat happened upon me setting all my stuffed toys ablaze.”

I can’t help the bewildered—albeit delighted—look on my face as I splutter:

“you  _ what _ ?”

He lets out a dry bark of laughter, and I can’t help but smile at the sound, feeling pride for making him laugh.

“yes, I’m told she nearly quit right then. No harm was done, aside for the dolls.” He heaves a sigh, “ah, how I do treasure those melted monstrosities.”

I chuckle, though my insecurities well back to the surface. Despite talking about it a few days ago, I find myself asking again:

“Have you considered the chance that I just can’t do magic?”

He fixes me with a serious look, pressing his palms together. He steeples his fingers.

“don’t be absurd. I told you before—you have magic within you—and lots of it.” his gray eyes fix me with such intensity I feel heat throughout my whole body, “it burns within your breast like a smoldering ember. When you are ready it will spark, leaping into flames.”

I hum, biting my nail as my mind whirls.

“it’s like there’s…” I wave my hands vaguely, “I can’t describe it but it’s like I know it’s there I feel it too but it just—is stuck. Like it needs…something to help jump start it.”

For a second, we both find ourselves glaring at the table, searching our brains for an answer. Then, at the same time, we gasp, and point at each other, exclaiming:

“A catalyst!”

I grin, mirroring his expression, and a second later he jumps up, slips on his glasses as he summons a book into his palm as he speaks:

“What you  _ need _ is a catalyst,” the book opens, the pages fluttering, “for some, magic comes as easily as breathing or blinking, but for others it requires a little help to get started. And others again may never learn the craft—” he looks at me over the rim of his glasses, “I suggest never asking Sage to demonstrate his  _ talents _ .”

“I’m going to assume,” I drawl, “like with being unable to summon food or drink, there is no spell for jump starting magic, correct?”

He smiles, nods.

I grin, feeling a wave of pride.

“knowledge is the sharpest blade of all,” he continues, “and you have the basics down, and the rest—I can provide.”

His gaze is sharp, stealing my breath and leaving me stunned.

“Why, during my studies—”

In the middle of his speech I am filled with an incredible dizziness, and I waver where I sit, dropping my head into my hands with a sharp breath. I take a moment to settle my suddenly erratic heartbeat, before looking up again, my fingers pressing my temples.

Felix looks concerned, his brows creased in worry—and my heart aches, and I yearn to smoothen his brows out.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks, “you look a bit unsteady.”

I groan, “just…ah, dizzy. It’s nothing.”

He frowns, “you shouldn’t brush off your pain,” he huffs, “it’s your body telling you to take it easy, so you ought to listen.”

_ Hypocrite _ .

“that being said,” he hums, voice soft, “magic exhausts-- both mentally and physically. You must take care not to overwork yourself.” He shakes his head, “Is that why you have been up late enough for bags to form under your eyes? Practicing magic?”

I huff, “Now hold on a minute! You’re not much better!” I point at his nose, and his eyes cross in an attempt to follow my finger, “Don’t pretend! I’ve seen you take cat-naps in practically every corner of the barracks!”

He pouts. He crosses his arms, looking away, “I am an experienced mage. And trying to find a way to help  _ you _ !”

I shake my head, crossing my arms, “Doesn’t matter. Same rules apply to me as they do you.”

He scowls. There’s decidedly little menace behind it. “You will not let this go, will you?”

“Nope,” I place my hands on my hips, “if you complain about my habits, I can point out yours.”

He sighs, a slight blush on his cheeks, “Fair enough.”

I nod decisively.

Then I remember the night I arrived—he performed a ritual, opened two portals, and if I had to wager I guess, I doubt just any normal mage could perform such exhausting-seeming feats of magic in one night.

“is that why you mistook me for that ‘Rime’ person?”

The question leaves my mouth, and I instantly regret it as a feeling of regret and grief flash across his features. But then he is also blushing, clearly remembering hugging me, and that burning hand kiss that I felt for the rest of the day.

“A-as you know, exhaustion comes in many forms,” he stutters, “dizziness, weakness, even hallucinations. “ he clears his throat, “the hour grows late. Let us call it a night.”

I nod.

I briefly entertain the idea of asking if I could go to magic school, but I wave it off as we begin tidying up the study. I don’t fancy the idea of another damned school setting, and somehow I feel that I may hate magic school just as much as normal school.

Apparently Felix is in just as deep a thought, as he carelessly knocks into a teapot. Instinctually, we both dive to catch it—

And in the process, his hand comes to rest atop mine, atop the porcelain.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, all is quiet.

Then, he gasps, cheeks burning.

“Oh!” he pulls his hands back, shakes them, then rakes them through his hair. “My…my thanks. I’ll uh, take my, er…leave.”

And just like that he’s rushing out of the study.

The teacup floats, suspended in the air all night.

**Felix**

When I open my eyes, I feel a warmth on my cheek.

“Morning Lov—” I begin, only to gasp when I recognize Anne—the real one—standing before me, hand pressed to my cheek, her own cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

She doesn’t look disgusted, simply surprised, I note.

“oh!” I flinch away, sitting upright, “my apologies!”

My cheeks burn, and in my haste to move away, I send a quill rolling off the table. 

“I was, uh…just…” I splutter, wracking my brain for an excuse as I right my glasses.

“Having a nice dream?”

Her voice is gentle and when I spare a glance her way, her cheeks are pink, her eyes shining, and a hand is brushing red curls off her shoulder.

It’s adorable.

“it looked like you were,” she adds.

I feel my cheeks burn, as I remember the dream, “Was I…?”

Even after simply a week, she consumes all my thoughts.

It’s…distracting.

I yawn, rubbing the corner of my eye before resting my chin on my hand. She takes a seat, tucking a foot between herself and the chair. I smile, tapping my foot on the wooden beam of the chair I’ve tucked it behind.

“did you stay up all night again?” she asks, then tuts, “maybe we should skip lessons today—”

“Nonsense,” I interrupt, “all I require is some sustenance.”

**Anne**

My palm still burns as Felix pokes experimentally at a scone and speaks.

“I haven’t fallen asleep in my books since…well, since I was a student.” He chuckles, “I used to lose myself in study, and even slept in the library a couple times.” He gives a half-smile, “never imagined I’d almost miss those days.”

I tilt my head, “you don’t talk about your school days much.” I lean forward, shifting to sit on my knees, “in fiction on earth, wizards ride brooms and have wands. Is that accurate?”

He scoffs, quirking a brow, “No. Why in the hells would you ride a broom? That sounds uncomfortable—” I laugh, “—but some may choose to wield staffs. I am not one of those, as you know.”

I nod.

“I studied history, political science and etiquette,” he glances at me, “all very dry.”

“Sounds like it,” I muse, “So it’s not all pointy hats and long beards?” I joke with a smirk.

He straightens, wincing when his back cracks—and I barely manage not to laugh.

“You, my friend,” he says, and I feel myself grin at the endearment, “have some very odd ideas about mages.”

I shrug, ignoring my heart thrumming against my ribs, “blame the earthling authors.”

He hums, expression growing somber.

“I am a highborn mage,” he explains, “which comes with expectations…the path I was to follow had been decided for me even before my birth. I enrolled in the academy,” his voice becomes airy, “excelled until I didn’t,” his voice returns to its normal state, “and found myself alone and penniless.”

“gifted kid syndrome.”

“Pardon?”

“Gifted kid syndrome,” I explain, “you were considered gifted or intelligent for knowing more, but when you didn’t know something, you didn’t know how to study, because you never had to.”

He blinks, apparently stunned into silence.

“Yes,” he croaks, “yes, that is exactly what happened.”

He clears his throat, a faint flush on his cheeks.

“Did you finish your schooling?” I ask.

He shrugs, “I never had the chance. They wanted me gone before then.”

I frown, the words processing slowly.

“Wait,” I say, “Felix, were you kicked out of magic school?”

His lips press together, and by his wide eyed look, I’ve hit the nail on the head. He grumbles, brows furrowed as he picks at his lip.

“Yes, I admit it. I was expelled.”

I grin, leaning forward some more, “What did you  _ do _ ?”

He smirks, crossing his arms, “what  _ didn’t _ I do? I was a regular menace.” His expression neutralizes, “can you imagine spending nearly 16 years being told what to think, how to behave, how to live…” he shakes his head, “I grew tired of the stuffy academics and predetermined ways to learn, and the haughty, shallow aristocratic brats.” He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes making my heart leap, “so, I sought to sabotage myself.”

I laugh, incredulous but impressed. “What did you do? A huge prank?”

He grins, “Naturally. What bored teenager doesn’t love a good prank? _ ” _

__

He tells stories of releasing chimeras into the dorms, having labelled them 1 and 3, and of releasing frogs into the cafeteria during the lunch rush.

And I sink into the chair, head in my palm as I listen to him with a smile on my face. His voice is silky smooth, calming, and has my heart beating loudly within my chest all at the same time.

He’s intoxicating.

Even if I barely know him.

“What is that?”

His voice falters, wavering once he sees the letter in my hand.

“Anisa gave it to me,” I say, handing it over, “for you.” I let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through my hair, “sorry, got distracted.”

“It’s no problem,” he says, eyes closed, and the letter promptly bursts into flame, “I’d rather you just burn such missives in the future.”

I frown. The crest on the wax seal is still burnt into my mind. I assume Felix must have trouble with whoever sent it.

He sighs, dusting off his hands, “it’s as though the universe conspires to annoy me today.”

And as if on cue, Sage bursts through the door.

**Chapter 5 Extra Content: Felix's Dream (NSFW) (Skippable)  
**

**Felix**

Anne is sparring with Anisa by the time I have already settled into the study. It takes little time for the quiet of the room to lull me into a light sleep.

My dream, however, is fairly lovely.

I suppose the image of Anne sweating and flushed has been burnt into my mind from watching her train for a week, as that is precisely how my dream begins.

I’m leaning over her naked, flushed form, with my fingers buried in her folds. She’s whining and squirming, hair fanned out like a halo around her.

“Please,” she begs, voice a long whine, back arching.

I smirk, “please what?”

“please,” she rasps, eyes opening and burning like embers, “fuck me.”

My breath stutters, but then I lean in to kiss her with a low growl—“with pleasure, my love.”

She whines again as I curl my fingers, making her gasp, back arching. I move my fingers, alternating between rubbing her clit, and inside her pussy, and the gasps and moans she makes are—

Intoxicating.

I’d listen to them forever if I could.

Then her hand moves, and I grab her wrist, pressing her palm to my cheek, and I smile.

And then—

“Felix!?”

My eyes open.


	7. Soul Thieves & Necromantic Secrets

**Anne**

A few moments later we are climbing stairs to get to the infirmary, isolated from the main hall. As we climb, I notice the shape of a person—only slightly taller than me—pass us.

As we walk beside one another, a deep chill settles over me, and my blood runs cold. My body screams _danger_! but I do my best to ignore the shaking of my hands as they distance themselves from me, though I focus on their footsteps.

“Anne?”

Felix’s voice tears me from my focus, and when I look up at him his brow is quirked in question—and worry.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, “just…thinking.”

I look back to where the figure was, but the staircase is empty. I wonder if I could’ve hallucinated it—

_You must have imagined it._

It’s strange how Isaac’s voice is the one who says that to me, but he did say it a lot. I shake my head.

Maybe I did.

“Are you certain?” Felix asks.

I smile and give a tense nod, “Yes.”

He gives me a once over, looks me in the eyes for a moment, then nods, continuing up the staircase.

Once we reach the top, Anisa lets us into a nearby room. Upon entering, I immediately recognize who sits there. The words slip out before I can stop them.

“Aren’t you Celena?”

Celena is a popular cosplayer in the Last Legacy community, and I met her myself at last year’s convention, as well as her being the one from the art showcase a week ago. Then of course I met her at the saucy gull.

“Nice to meet you Celena,” Anisa says, “you may not know us, but we wish to help you.” the smile on Anisa’s face is welcoming, but Celena still looks uneasy.

“Do you perchance know how you came to this realm? Who brought you here?” Felix asks. I frown.

She seems scared, and I doubt all this attention is helping that.

“Do you remember me?” I cut in, crouch in front of her, “I’m Anne. We met a few times…here, and back on Earth.”

She glances at me. something feels off.

I ignore it.

“Anne?” she whispers. She nods, “I-I remember you.”

“You know her?” Anisa asks. I nod.

“A bit, yeah,” I nod, “We’ve met a few times.”

Sage hums, “she might not appreciate three strangers breathing down her neck.”

Felix opens his mouth to speak, but Anisa beats him to it, “I agree. This must be much to take it,” she nods to me, “We’ll give you two space.”

A bad feeling settles in my gut, and I almost brush it off—

But Felix approaches me.

“Something about this feels amiss,” he whispers. His eyes meet mine, “Please be careful.”

I suck in a breath. 

**Felix**

She sucks in a breath at my suggestion.

“Agreed,” she nods, “I will, but…” she tilts her head, “stay close?” she whispers softly, then, lighter, barely audible, “please?”

Her voice borders on a whine, brown eyes shining with hope at me. I swallow, hoping to calm my rapid heart.

“Of course,” I say, sounding surprisingly confident.

And then we leave.

“What do you think?” Sage asks Anisa.

She shrugs, “Celena is scared. I don’t think she’s a threat, and even if she were, Anne could handle herself.” Anisa grins, “she caught on surprisingly quick.”

_As opposed to her magic lessons,_ I think, though I correct myself; _she is great at understanding the fundamentals, it’s practicing it that is hard._

And I’m torn from my thoughts at a loud shout from beyond the door, followed by shiver that shoots up my spine—

_Magic_.

The three of us rush into the room, where Anne is sitting on the floor near the door, remnants of a light spell flickering out in front of her--and Celena is on the offensive.

“Anne!” I gasp.

“Felix!” Anne exclaims, head whipping up, “she’s possessed or something, be careful!”

I nod, striding forward, pushing past Annie and Sage.

Sage goes for his sword, but I raise a hand, stopping him. “Allow me,” I hum. I address the spirit, “I ask you to vacate that body at once.”

“Die!” Celena snarls. She jumps onto the table and hisses. I huff.

“Then you leave me no choice.”

I reach out with my right hand, fingers closing to a fist, and the effect is immediate. Celena chokes, hands flying to her throat. She’s abruptly yanked into the air, and I approach slowly as she hisses and snarls. I observe the spell that was used, then hum appreciatively.

“What a clever bit of spellwork,” I smirk, “Pity I’ll have to break it.”

I slowly twist my hand and Celena gives an inhuman howl as I begin extracting the spirit from her body. Smoke rolls off her, gathering at my feet. The spirit fights my spell, and I grit my teeth, closing my eyes as I focus on my magic wrapping around the corrupt soul.

Seconds pass, and Celena’s howls grow louder—and Anisa’s patience wears thin.

“What are you doing!?” she exclaims, “Just banish it!”

I click my tongue, “I’ve nearly got it!”

Then, a second later, Celena goes limp, and drops onto the table as the darkness swirls, gathering in an orb in my palm.

“What is that?” Anne asks, sliding up to peer at it, her hands clutched over her chest, curiosity sparkling in brown eyes.

“A spirit,” I say, “a very old, very corrupt one.” 

“We need to get Celena to a bed,” Anisa says.

x

**Anne**

“So,” Sage drawls, leaning against the wall, a playful smile on his lips, “you come here often?”

I snort, crossing my arms, “do you always joke in times of crisis?”

“Hey,” he holds up his hands defensively, “I’m not the one laughing at the joke.”

I grin, “I wasn’t shaming you. It’s a popular coping mechanism,” I shrug, “I’d know.”

“Hah,” he chuckles, and we share a friendly smile.

“So,” he hums a minute later, a foot resting on the wall, “what do you think?”

I assume of Mournfall, so I respond easily.

“It’s pretty. It’s nice, and quiet.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “Felix is like that. Though I wouldn’t see the quiet as a positive.”

I suck in a breath, cheeks heating considerably. I turn on Sage.

“That’s not what I meant! I thought you meant of _Mournfall_!”

He grins, “sounds like you’re denying you wouldn’t describe Felix as that.”

I purse my lips, “Hey…I never said that.”

He chuckles, throwing an arm around my shoulders, “Man, you and him are so fun to tease.”

“All I’m saying!” I say loudly, “Is…is that objectively! Objectively! Felix is a handsome person.”

Sage grins, wolfish as he purrs, “Riiiiiight. Totally not ‘cuz you gotta crush on him.”

I glare at him, smiling coldly, “Exactly.”

This apparently works. His eyes widen, and he retreats.

…just as Felix and Anisa appear.

**Felix**

The glare she gives Sage is nothing short of icy, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Luckily, Anne notices us as we step into the hall, pushing off the wall and striding towards me—though she slows to a stop a few feet away.

“How is she?” she asks.

“Entirely unresponsive on account of her lack of a spirit.” 

Anne frowns, “so…like, sleeping?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Anisa says, then nods. 

Sage, who still leans against the wall, crossing his arms. His ears flick, “You pulled one spirit out. Can’t you shove hers back in?”

“I think you’d need to, yknow,” she shrugs, a hand on her hip, “have her spirit in your possession to do that,” Anne deadpans to him, then turns to me, “or something. Right?”

I manage not to look too surprised at how easily she had caught on, “yes. That is. Close enough.”

“But why wouldn’t it be here?” Sage asks.

I give a derisive snort, “do you think her spirit just left her body?” I shake my head, “someone excised her spirit. Likely bottled it up and departed ere we found her.”

Anne hums, a thumb and finger on her chin, “Why would someone steal a spirit?” she tilts her head, “is there some way to extract information from it?”

I nod, “Exactly, there are many ways.”

“Spirit theft has always been a necromancer’s trick,” Anisa interrupts, though my gaze lingers on Anne’s, where interest shines like stars. “you could have just banished the spirit instead of ripping it out of her like that,” Anisa sneers.

I huff, “how polite of you to save your reservations for after I’ve used my wicked arts to save the day.”

“Why did you exercise it instead of banishing it?” Anne asks, a genuine interest in her voice, as opposed to Anisa’s reprimanding tone.

“I trapped it in an inert form, so that we may learn who set it against us.” I lock gazes with Annie and Sage, “or is research immoral too? Tell me, where do you draw the line?”

Anne nods, but Anisa and Sage are frowning. Anisa plants her hands on her hips.

“Spare me the righteous indignation. You can’t actually believe using spirits is moral.” She closes her eyes, “We can’t stoop to the methods of our adversaries.”

I feel Anne bristle beside me, but I’m too caught up in the budding argument to investigate further.

“oh, I’m stooping?” I cut in.

“She’s got a point,” Sage admits after a beat of silence.

“No she doesn’t.”

Anne’s voice rings through the hall, effectively gaining our attention.

It’s the first time she’s gotten mad at either of them. The surprise is palpable on their faces.

“The way I see it,” she begins, slowly, “Necromancy—like all magic—is a tool for people to use. It depends on the user if it is for good or evil, but the practice itself isn’t inherently bad.” She purses her lips. “That’s. That’s what I think. But, considering I’ve been studying magic for a week….I…I dunno.”

“You are right,” I say, quick enough to ensure she has no time to doubt herself—which she does often if her input is left hanging in the air for too long, I’ve found—“we must use every tool at our disposal. ‘know thy enemy’, was that not the counsel of our late leader?”

“Yeah, and ‘careful or you risk becoming that which you fight’,” Sage interrupts glumly.

“Look where that got him,” I hiss, “dead and buried like all the rest. You may not like my methods, but…” I take a shuddering breath.

“I will not suffer another unnecessary death!”

My outburst hangs in the air, but from under my bangs I can see Anne, looking wide eyed at me, hand on her chest.

“Felix..” Anisa breathes, reaching out to comfort me, but I jerk back.

I inhale sharply, “I shall be researching a way to track our wayward spirit. If anyone has need of me, I will be in the study.”

I stalk off, only hearing a faint murmur of Anisa’s voice as I reach the study around the corner. I enter the room, close the door, and immediately flop onto the couch, face in my hands.

A few moments later the door opens, and the sweet scent of cinnamon and coffee fills the room.

“Oh hey,” Anne’s voice is soft and melodic, warming me from the inside out, as I glance up, “I thought you were researching, not…” she vaguely gestures a hand at me, “brooding.”

“Please forgive me,” I sigh, “that was rather ill-mannered of me.” I shake my head, eyes lowered, “my temper always gets the best of me.” I sigh, “got me expelled, disinherited,” I scowl, “and now I’ve also made a fool of myself in front of you.”

She doesn’t reply immediately, but out of the corner of my eye I see her standing there still, wide eyed and hands limp at her sides. Then she smiles, quirking a brow.

“just cuz’ you’re embarrassed,” she rolls her eyes, “doesn’t mean you actually have any reason to be.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes, “how wise of you, dear barista.”

She inches closer, and I make room for her to sit. She does.

“You know they only fight with you cause they worry, right?” there’s a wistful smile on her lips, “best friends are kind of the best and worst like that.”

“I know…” I glance at her under my bangs. She’s playing with the hem of her skirt, gaze flickering around the room, likely thinking of something else to say. 

“Thank you,” I say, and her face turns to regard me, “for having my back out there. Necromancy is very misunderstood.” I sigh, eyes closing, “people have narrow minded views, it’s no wonder our knowledge of magic is so limited.”

“They do,” she nods, then tilts her head, “has it always been this way?”

I shake my head, “my father came from a country call Vela. Across the glass sea to the west. There is no place in the whole world quite like it. For thousands of years it was an inhospitable, haunted wasteland. That is, until one woman—Ammara Nayyar—bound a god and in doing so, bent the heavens to her will.” I smile, “She created a paradise for man. Naar Vilar, a diamond in the desert, built and run entirely by magic.”

When I glance up, she’s smiling at me—earnest and bright—with a look in her eyes I can’t explain, as her head rests in her hand.

“Your face lit up,” she says, and I feel my cheeks burn, “you like the history of magic?”

I gulp, face still feeling very warm. “I—of necromancy, yes. It is…it is so little known, it is a miracle we even know this…”

“I see,” she hums, “but…hm. Did that really happen? Or was it just a legend?”

I smirk, appreciating the way she questions history—for I know for myself that what the majority say happened is not always accurate—“it is historical fact,” I say, “though somewhat embellished.” I hold up my finger, “for starters, there are no gods, simply spirits grown large on a diet of magic.”

Her brows furrow, and from experience, I know she needs a moment to process what I’ve said. To be honest, it is cute to watch her focus—sometimes her lips just purse to accompany furrowed brows, other times she sticks her tongue out. It’s incredibly endearing.

As I reign my thoughts in and return to the present, her eyes widen, brows shooting to her hairline. 

“Wait…was she…a necromancer?”

I grin, incredibly proud of her.

“one of the most well known in history, yes.”

“What!!” she gasps, grin wide, jumping up only to land back on her knees, “Really!? That’s so cool!”

I find myself laughing, her excitement infectious.

“my entire culture, and my ancestors, owe their life to one necromancer,” I explain.

She deflates, the reality sinking in. “I see. Figures things are a lot more complicated than just simple prejudice.”

I nod. “they always are.”

She groans, “don’t I know it.”

I pick at my trousers, “thank you for being so patient with me and my…moods.”

I hear the smile in her voice as she nudges me with a shoulder.

“Hey, it’s only fair for you putting up with mine.” She grins, “though I appreciate the self awareness.”

I force a smile, then frown.

“I have…wanted to offer an apology,” I mutter, “for dragging you here, into this world, with no immediate way out,” I stand up, moving to the chair where my bag rests. I open it and rummage around for the box of assorted necklaces I bought an entire week ago. “I know you do not see it as bad, but I feel the need to apologize regardless.” I find the box, and walk back to her and sit down. “So here,” I hand her the box, which she delicately takes, “I apologize for getting you involved with us.”

Her lips part in surprise, and her eyes flick from the box to me.

“Felix,” she breathes, “you…didn’t have to, I—I can’t accept this—”

“I insist.” I nod, “please, it is yours.”

She smiles, crooked but touched.

“Thank you.”

I nod, “I’m afraid, I have also kept many factors…from you, so to say. I have not been the most forthcoming, and—”

Just then, I notice my hand inch along the arm of the couch.

“Oh no,” I breathe, right before my hand pulls me off the couch, to the desk.

“What!?” Anne exclaims, following quickly, depositing the box on the table, “What’s happening?!”

My hand picks up a quill and begins writing, disregarding if it writes on wood or paper.

“do not be alarmed,” I sigh, more annoyed than frightened, “this will pass shortly.” I sigh again, “it seems Escell has something urgent to say to me.”

And not long after, it passes. My hand finishes with a flourish, and I collapse in a chair, already knowing what the message says.

“Felix, return home at once,” Anne reads, “you know where to find me. and do not burn my missives. Yours, E.”

She frowns. “What the fuck?” she turns to me, her expression oozing with discomfort, disgust and disbelief as she points at the note, “ _That’s_ from Escell!?”

She seems infuriated, and while I share her obvious discontent for Escell, I am a little surprised.

It feels…nice, to know she is mad on my behalf.

**Anne**

My blood boils at the implications of the last 5 minutes.

Escell has essentially magically branded his _son_ , to the point where he knows he burned the letter, and can control said son’s _hand_ —if not more.

Felix is sitting in a chair, seeming exhausted, and of all things _surprised_ at my apparent rage.

What else has he done to him in the past?

“Apparently he wishes to speak with me,” he grumbles, “urgently.”

I click my tongue, anger still boiling under my skin as I cross my arms, “Apparently.” I purse my lips, “then…what about Celena?”

“And you,” he says with a nod, but I ignore it, “but if you thought a necromancer were threatening, wait until you’ve met my father.”

Felix rarely talks about his family, and I can kinda get why, now.

He sighs, slowly standing. “You’d best rest,” his voice is gentle, all hints of venom gone, now replaced with exhaustion, “we leave tomorrow morning.”

He regards me with a look I can’t decipher, and I nod. His lips twitch, but before I can dwell on it he’s moved on to examine the crest on the back of his hand. It was barely noticeable before—so much so that I barely took note of it—but it is now angry and red, like when you cut yourself slightly.

“Right then,” he sighs, dropping his hand as he takes his bag, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I nod, “goodnight, Felix.”

He regards me briefly, our gazes locking, before he manages to tear himself out of the study. I sigh, gaze dropping to the desk once he’s gone. The note glares at me, written on paper and wood, and I scowl.

I lean on the desk and point a finger at the words, “Fuck you.”

Then the box catches my eye.

It’s small and simple, a black box with constellations carved around the sides of the lid, held together by a golden ribbon.

I get the feeling Felix isn’t used to spending on a budget, for this looks simple, yet entirely too expensive for me.

I take it, and sit down on a nearby chair. I tug at the ribbon, and it falls off easily. I lift the lid and find my heart speeding up when I see the contents.

Firstly, a note that reads “I saw this and believed you could enjoy it. your outfit looked like it was missing a finishing touch. -F.”

I smile, noting how he did get something from Escell—though I know that is likely the extent of what he got from him.

Removing the note, a gasp escapes me.

Sitting on dark blue velvet rests a set of necklaces.

The first is a simple chain—nothing fancy.

The second one is slightly longer, with a crescent moon at the middle.

The last one is much longer, with a stylized skull at the bottom.

The gift must’ve been sitting in his bag for days, I imagine. I smile to myself, sighing. It’s incredibly sweet, and makes my heart flutter.

Before, I was anxious about leaving Mournfall, but I find myself thinking that with Felix at my side, it may not be so bad.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

“Yes?” I call.

Anisa opens the door, sheepish, “Hey, Felix just told us what happened,” she frowns, “you’re going to meet Escell with him tomorrow.”

I nod, “Yeah. Any advice?”

She bites her lip, and crosses the room, rummaging in her pocket for something. Then she pulls out the hilt of…something. It’s a dark red leather with golden embellishments, and I can feel magic webbed into it.

“This is a quarterstaff,” Anisa explains, handing it to me, “if you cast even a crumb of magic on it, it will unfurl. Even Sage can use it, so it should work for you.” I take the staff with a nod.

“Thanks.” I can’t tell if this is for defense against Escell, or the Spirit Thief.

Anisa’s hands rest on my shoulders, her gaze locked with mine.

“Be careful,” she says, “Escell he’s…powerful. But you cannot trust him.”

My throat tightens, but I force myself to swallow, and nod.

“I’m always careful,” I say with a weak smile, in an attempt to lighten her mood.

Anisa smiles, “I know. Keep an eye on Felix…don’t let him get himself killed.”

I chuckle, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t. we wouldn’t want to have to hold him a funeral.”

She quirks a brow, her lips quirked, “I know _you_ certainly wouldn’t.”

I frown as Anisa waves and wishes me goodnight before the door closes, leaving me alone once more.

_What_?


	8. Felix's Place

**Anne**

The next morning Felix and I meet outside the barracks. I adjust my bag over my shoulder as I step out the front door, and approach Felix where he stands by the edge of the street.

He sees me as I approach, and I smile in greeting. He also cracks a smile.

“Good morning, Anne,” he says, and I can’t help but grin more. “Are you all ready to leave?” he asks.

“Morning,” I tilt my head, “Yuppers. All packed and ready to go.”

He nods, “then we should get moving.” He turns to lead the way and I jog to catch up to him. We fall in line beside each other as we walk across town.

“Oh, I just remembered,” I speak up, eventually breaking the comfortable silence, “I was able to cast magic last night!” I grin, “I cast a spell when Celena attacked me, and I tried it again in the study after you left.”

Felix smiles, and it’s enough to have my heart soaring even as he speaks, “That’s perfect. Then we can begin with actual magic lessons this evening.”

I grin, nodding. “I can’t wait!!”

He smirks, “I told you you could do it.”

I freeze in my tracks, and he leisurely keeps walking as my lips form and ‘o’.

“Hey,” I mumble, then exclaim, jogging after him, “Hey! Wait for me!”

x

A short while later, we are climbing the stairs of the very ruins Felix and I had met in a week ago.

“I felt we ought to revisit this place ere we depart,” Felix explains as he comes to a stop, then spins on his heel to face me. “it felt…suitable. A little poetic. And…well…”

Felix seems to lose his train of thought, eyes drifting from my face to where I know the necklaces sit. I smile.

He shakes his head, apparently remembering what he was saying.

“I am the one who stranded you here…and now I am dragging you to meet my father, of all people,” he fixes me with a small—albeit forced—smile, “the next time we return here will be the day you return to your realm, and our paths diverge.” He nods, “I promise I will see you home.”

My heart shutters a little.

I don’t know him that well, nor this world, but every fiber of my being is begging to stay. Every part of me longs to stay in Astraea—

To stay with _Felix_.

I force a smile and shrug, “Thanks, but I’m in no rush to go home. I like it here.” I watch Felix’s eyes widen in surprise, but it’s short lived, as he smirks. I cross my arms, adding: “Besides, a little adventure never hurt anyone.”

“Ha!” he scoffs, “I beg to differ.”

I find myself giggling.

“in all seriousness,” I say, a hand on his shoulder, “don’t beat yourself up about my being here. I don’t mind. I feel very at home here.” My hand falls away.

He hums, “I see.” He nods slightly, though I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

He turns his back to me and snaps, and a portal flickers into existence before him. I smile crookedly, a witty remark on the tip of my tongue.

“Do you ever use your legs to get anywhere?”

He turns his head towards me and frowns, crossing his arms with a sniff as we move towards each other. He huffs, “I’d sooner fling myself cross the void than walk all the way to bleeding Porrima. It’s easily a weeklong journey,” He throws his hair over his shoulder with a jerk of his head, “besides, we are the perfect target for ruffians.”

“Oh?” I ask, crossing my arms and cocking my hip to the side. He nods with a satisfied smirk.

“Naturally. I look moneyed and you…” he makes a show of looking me up and down, but I catch his slight blush, “look wide-eyed and lost.”

I laugh, nodding with my hands on my hips, “alright alright, you proved your point.”

I hum, thinking that I wouldn’t mind traveling across the country with Felix for a week.

“You sure this one’s safe?” I joke, quirking my brow, “last time I almost crushed Anisa.”

I mean it in a teasing manner, but Felix interprets it as apprehension as he frowns.

“Would it make you feel better if I held your hand?” he holds out a hand, then flushes, running the other over his neck, “not that it matters to me, of course!”

I feel my cheeks warming, and though I’m not frightened, I find myself yearning to touch him for longer than just a second—I find myself wanting to hold his hand, for seemingly no reason.

_You know there’s a reason._

I shoo the voice in my head as I take his hand, “Thanks.”

He makes a strangled sound, and I swallow down a chuckle. He clears his throat.

“Now then, shall we?”

I nod, “Lead the way, magic man.”

He rolls his eyes, a smile on his lips along with the blush coating his cheeks and ears, and he’s undeniably cute.

He tugs me through the portal, and—

I fall.

I yelp as I flail through the air, before I make contact with something as I land—

“Ugh…”

Sorry, someone.

I groan as I sit up, making Felix—who I apparently landed on—hiss.

He lays sprawled out beneath me, and for a second, I find myself rooted to the spot, committing the sight of him—hair fanned out around him, flushed and pinned with my hands on his chest—to memory.

“Anne?” he groans, finally seeming to catch his breath.

“Shit,” I breathe, “Sorry!” I rush to scramble off him as fast as possible, which results in me clumsily rolling to the side then standing up—and he still makes a strangled noise when I do.

“Thank…thank you,” he mutters.

As he gets up I take a look around. The green and blue landscape paints a lush forest and a sparkling lake. By looking around I can spot a tower through the greenery.

A rustle beside me draws my attention, and I manage to catch sight of Felix shake his head to get the dirt out, then pick twigs out of his hair. I smile, walking over to pick one out of the back of his hair that he misses.

He spins on his heel when I remove myself from him, and looks at me with wide eyes and a red face. I show him the stick. He nods silently, cheeks dusted with a light blush.

“So much for your new and improved portal,” I say, smiling.

“I apologize,” he says, flushing deeper, “I was distracted.”

I push down the urge to say ‘ah yes, because I’m so distracting~’. As I do, I notice him adjusting his sleeves—and see the branding.

“Can’t you cast a healing spell on it?” I ask, pointing at the mark.

He blinks, gaze switching from me to the mark, and he sighs.

“And risk my bones shifting or turning into chittering spiders?” he scoffs. I snort.

“What—”

“I am afraid,” he sighs, “I have no talent for the curative arts.”

“Ahhhh,” I nod with a long exhale, “I get it. You’re a damage dealer, not a healer.”

He flushes again, and it’s impossibly endearing. He pouts.

I hum, tapping my chin with my forefinger, “Hum. In that case, maybe I could learn to heal.”

The blush on his face dissipates, replaced by a troubled expression as he fumbles with his necklace.

“We should get moving,” he mumbles, pushing past me and leading the way through a small path in the forest.

I frown. Did I say the wrong thing?

“So,” I hum, hands behind my back as I follow him, “Where are we? Escell doesn’t live around here, in the middle of nowhere, does he?”

Felix stops, shakes his head, “Absolutely not.”

I tilt my head to the side, “Then where are we?”

He flashes me an enigmatic smile that has my pulse threatening to burst. He pushes a branch to the side, revealing…

A fortress.

It stands in the middle of a moat, mottled with age and blanketed in ivy, though it’s clear it’s not been abandoned long, as little of it lies in ruin.

Felix smiles, sweeping his arm in a large gesture towards the fortress.

“Welcome to Fathom Tower,” he grins, “once home to the Starsworn.”

A strong wind shakes a willow leaning on the wall of Fathom Tower, and a flock of birds take flight.

“It’s…beautiful,” I smile, “And ominous.”

“Is that, ah,” he hums, “a good thing?”

I meet his gaze with a grin. He smiles, relief sparkling in stormy gray eyes.

“I love old buildings,” I sigh. I shrug, “dunno why, but I’m guessing it’s the history-teacher parents that imparted that love of implied history in me,” I grin. I turn to look at the structure and hum as I tilt my head. “is it haunted or something?”

I mean it jokingly, and Felix seems to catch on when I giggle at him again. He smirks.

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head, “the only thing that is in the fortress are the countless arcane artifacts and texts that reside here.”

At the mention of magic I perk up, “What? Here?”

He nods, “the derelict façade deters would be thieves and meddlesome adventurers.”

I quirk a brow, “Does it?” I shrug, “I dunno, if I was looking for adventure,” I snap my fingers then point at the structure, “that’d be where I’d go.”

He rolls his eyes, “well, we couldn’t call it Ancient Artifact Depot or Castle-come-hither-theres-candy,” he huffs, “having it present like so,” he gestures to it, “was as good as I could do.”

I smirk, ready for a joke again—“is there candy?”

He looks at me with a deadpan look, but I see his lip twitch. He rolls his eyes regardless, turning to lead the way.

I smile at him as he goes, watching his back retreat towards the tower.

…then I realize he’s gotten kind of far.

“Hey wait!” I gasp, then start to laugh, “you didn’t answer me! Hehe, Felix! Is there candy!”

“None for you!” he retorts, but I hear the smile in his voice as his pace quickens.

…and I start running.

And a wild chase ensues.

It takes us through the winding halls of Fathom Tower—and this is the fastest I’ve seen Felix, and the loudest I’ve heard him laugh.

I can tell he really was trained as a knight, as his speed and stamina far outdo mine.

_Interesting_.

By the time I catch up to him, he’s leaning on the wall outside a room, panting slightly. Meanwhile I’m gasping, struggling to get some air.

“Heh,” he chuckles, “too fast for you, dear barista?”

“Yes!” I gasp, my hands on my knees, “I’m not some trained knight! I can’t run that fast.”

He chuckles, “What,” when I look up he has a sultry look on his face, “already out of stamina?”

I flush at the implication, but he’s already moved on to undo the wards on the door.

_I didn’t know he made jokes like that-_

The door swings open, interrupting my thoughts.

The door had been hiding a study, with bookcases lining the walls, a big desk with a fancy chair opposite the door, and a yellow couch from which emanates a mysterious pull.

Felix walks inside, dragging a finger along a shelf and frowning at the collected dust.

“What is this place?” I ask, wandering into the study, turning as I take in all the books. I spot a small kitchen nestled into the corner next to the door.

“This is my workshop, I keep a personal collection of arcane artifacts and—”

He freezes suddenly, drawing my attention.

“Oh no,” he breathes.

I don’t feel a threat, and I frown.

“What is it?” I ask.

He raises a finger to his lips, stormy eyes glancing at me, and I spend too long of a second looking at his pursed lips and long lashes.

Then he glances away, and I follow his line of sight.

It’s…

“A cat?”

It blinks at Felix, then me.

It has no tail.

Then it bounds towards me, and Felix hisses—“Watch out!”

But his warning is late, and it rubs against my leg, purring loudly. I stare at the cat, then at Felix. I point at the cat with a smirk, “is this your cat?”

“D-don’t move a muscle!” he says before I even reach down to pet it.

I frown, hands raised next to my face, “o-kay.”

“That is no simple house cat. Do not let her soft fur and blank expression deceive you!” he warns. I look down at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me as Felix speaks, “Within that seemingly innocent pet hides an ancient, diabolical fiend, summoned from the deepest hells.”

I take a moment to look at Felix—who is staring at the cat as if watching a spider to make sure it doesn’t move before someone comes to kill it—then to the cat—who rubs her face on my ankles with a rumbling purr.

“Does she have a name?” I ask. He frowns, relaxing somewhat.

“I dare not utter the name of the beast that inhabits her but…” he closes his eyes, “when she lived, my Papa called her Stella.”

I assume that Felix means someone else besides Escell, though I can’t tell if it’s a second dad or a grandparent.

“You stuffed a demon’s soul into the body of your dead cat?” I ask, visibly amused.

He crosses his arms, looking away, “Perhaps I did.”

I chuckle to myself, feeling entirely compelled to pet her.

Before he can argue, I quickly drop down to pet her back. she gives a languid meow.

“Anne!” he gasps, then relaxes, brows furrowed, “I see, she must have you under some sort of compulsion.”

I roll my eyes, mentally accusing him of being dramatic, though I know in my heart that I’m the same way.

I spend a few minutes petting her, then scoop her up. I show the gesture off with a grin, but when I look Felix in the eye—

Jealousy is reflected back.

_What is he jealous of? Stella?_

I ignore the question, “Don’t you want to pet her? she’s _so_ soft,” I drawl. I lean forward, beaming up at him from under my bangs.

He scowls, “Absolutely not!” he meets my gaze with furrowed brows, “I dare say that you wouldn’t either, had you seen the things she’s done, as I have. I’ve heard her speak in tongues!”

_A talking cat?_

_He probably means the godling._

_…she’s real cute though._

“Why do you have a cat in your abandoned workshop anyway?”

He crosses his arms, expression relaxing.

“I was going to explain before you insisted on petting her.” He pats down his vest, “some years ago I found myself in need of security.”

“So you got a cat,” I say with a smirk.

He huffs, “ _No_ , I trapped a godling in a cat’s body. She requires neither sustenance nor sleep. She lives only to protect my belongings.” 

Now that he says it outright…

“That’s…impressive,” I nod, eyes wide, then I smile at him, “and really cool!”

He flushes, and averts his gaze.

“I…thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I hum.

A silence settles between us, and he begins to look around the room. I shift Stella in my arms.

Then I get an idea.

And I slowly approach Felix.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a hint of panic in his voice and expression as he backs up a little. “You…you should lower her now…”

“if you hold her, I will.”

His eyes widen, clearly not expecting me to bargain. He frowns.

“you will not relent, will you?” he asks.

I shrug, “people have told me I’m surprisingly stubborn.”

He huffs, gesturing for me to hand her over, “somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

I bite my lip at the remark, the implication that he already knows me that well making my heart swell.

And then Felix is holding Stella, awkward as can be, and entirely way too endearingly, considering the situation.

He sighs.

“Are you satisfied?”

I grin, “Very.”

His features soften, a small smile on his lips.

“Perhaps,” he says quietly, “this is not so bad.”

He reaches to pet her, but she hisses, squirming in his grasp. Obviously surprised, he flinches, letting her drop to the floor in the process.

I watch her climb onto the couch and curl into a ball there.

“I can’t believe your fancy security system is a cat,” I smile as I speak, crossing my arms.

“You best not underestimate her, dear Barista,” he says, though his voice is gentle as he leans on the couch, “she is more dangerous than you can imagine.”

The smirk he gives, accompanied by the way he leans against the couch, his arms crossed, has my heart skipping a beat.

Weird.

I hum, nodding, “I trust you.”

He freezes at the comment, smile dropping, then he flushes.

“That—” he clears his throat, glaring at the floor, “That being said. Her wakeful state bodes ill.” He clears his throat, “She would only be active if someone tried to enter.”

I frown, “so someone was here.”

Our gazes lock as he nods, “Yes.”

I smirk, a joke forming on my tongue. “Maybe it was Sage, or Anisa…or, a cat _burglar_?”

I lean towards him, wiggling my brows with a fingergun under my chin. From my distance I can see his lip twitch as he resists the urge to smile. He glances away, the attempt failing as he speaks.

“No it—it had—” he shakes his head, the amusement vanishing, “it had to be some enemy spellcaster. A powerful mage…”

My heart sinks, “like…Escell?”

He sighs, shoulders drooping, “it is a possibility.”

“What use would he have of any of your things?”

He sighs, shrugging, “a bargaining chip for getting me to listen. Perhaps actually to use them. I cannot tell you, for I haven’t a clue.”

I have no doubt in my mind that he would steal his book—after seeing him possess Felix’s hand? He’s capable and it’s probable.

“is anything missing?” I ask.

He shakes his head, “whoever tried, they failed.”

I squint at nothing, _if it had been Escell, he would have succeeded._

“Escell would do anything to get his hands on many things in this room,” he explains, “along with this.”

Felix pulls out an ornate key from his pocket—and it draws my gaze instantly.

“I want you to have it,” he says, and I blink, and it’s suddenly in my hand.

“heavy,” I whisper, weighing it in my palm.

“that key is one of my finest creations,” he explains, drawing my attention to his face, where I spot a smirk, “insert it into any door, and you will be teleported here.”

I feel another joke building on my lips.

“Wow, Felix, I’m flattered, but don’t you think this is a bit soon?” I grin obviously, conveying that it’s a joke, but he flushes all the same, spluttering to explain.

“What—What!? I didn’t mean to imply—” I chuckle, and he scowls, “all I mean to say—to say is that, I’ve no need of a key, and, and well—well,” he swallows, “I merely thought you should have the freedom to come and go as you like.”

I blink, a little surprised. I smile, very touched that he trusts me with—

_His personal space._

It’s no secret Felix hasn’t been with Escell for awhile, and I think it’s safe to assume he’s been hiding out here for the last few years. It feels…personal. The space screams Felix Escellun, and I feel like an intruder—

Yet oddly at home.

I feel at home with Felix.

“Thank you,” I say, holding the key to my chest, smiling. “I was just teasing, you know.”

He grumbles, “I do.” He smiles a little, “I just wasn’t expecting such a joke.”

“Well you took me off guard earlier with your joke,” I shrug, “so might as well take you off guard with mine.”

I shrug, slipping the key into my bag. Felix stands there, staring at nothing, seeming a little lost in thought.

**Felix**

As Anne slips the key into her bag, my thoughts drift.

It is so odd how quickly we’ve become this comfortable with each other. How quickly it feels normal for her to be here—

Even though it’s very much not normal. Her being in Astraea, in my workshop? Neither should have happened, if I did the spell correctly.

Which I did, without a doubt.

I’ve wondered for days how the spell—a spell to summon one’s soulmate—would summon _Anne_.

If I really did do it correctly….

“You don’t want your dad getting in,” Anne says, and nods, “makes sense.” Her words draw me back to reality, and I hum.

I nod, “that is however not all,” I pat the couch I am leaning against, “within this couch I’ve hidden a most dangerous book: the Grimoire Lemegeton. Bound in human skin, each page inscribed in blood, it was long thought destroyed…”

Her eyes widen. “…yet you have it.”

I smirk, pride swelling in my chest, “indeed.”

She pauses, seemingly at war with herself with what she thinks of said book. Then she peers to the side.

“Can I see it?”

I flush, a hand scratching the back of my neck. “I’d love to show you but…” I bite my lip, “it is a spot Stella loves to rest upon and she gets…cranky when it is moved.”

She smiles, bordering on a grin. 

“That’s fair,” she shrugs, and my shoulders relax. “…do you think Escell was the spirit thief? Or behind it?”

“it’s possible he simply came here to get my attention,” I shrug, “Whatever the case, something is amiss, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.” a smirk forms on my lips.

I push off the couch, “it is time we paid my father a visit.”


	9. Porrima Palace Panic

**Felix**

Anne standing in my workshop is a thing I anticipated, albeit not so soon after meeting her. Nor did I expect to feel so…at ease with her there. Or in general.

Nor did I forsee her taking a liking to Stella. Or to feel jealous of a damn godling-holding-cat.

When we arrive in Porrima, before the castle, I speak up.

“The castle of Porrima, practically my second home growing up.”

Then I look to Anne…

…finding her awestruck, gaping at the towering structure.

I can’t help the snort that bubbles up within me, nor the amused expression on my face.

“You’ve seen magical impossibilities,” I muse, “forbidden necromantic arts, and this is what has you at a loss for words?”

“That’s not fair!” she whines, turning to face me, “it’s huge! And the architecture is—it’s beautiful!” she folds her arms, “you gotta admit it’s impressive.” 

I frown, “I’ve never been fond of this place, crawling with politicians.”

Her expression falls. “Right. I figured you wouldn’t.” She shrugs, “I’m not a huge fan of politics either.”

I sigh, “Let’s hurry and get this over with,” I smirk then, “I want to see how your impression of Escell compares to the real thing.”

She huffs, following me with long strides, “doubt it does, but sure. Let’s go.”

And just like that we are let through the gates, and I lead her through winding halls to my father’s office. We pass by a courtyard, filled with _people_. 

As we pass—our footing surprisingly in synch, considering our differing heights—I pick up on people watching us, then whispering to their companions.

Anne seems to notice as well, as she slows down a bit, forcing me to as well, and inching to stand in my shadow.

My heart flutters at the trust she shows to have in me.

“Why are so many people staring?” she whispers, her breath warm on my ear. I suppress a shiver.

I click my tongue, “insufferable gossips, the lot of them.” I look up at her, “Escell’s estranged son returns to visit. The entire town will be talking of it before sundown.” She frowns.

“Is that his girlfriend—”

The sound of a nearby gossip draws my attention, and when I give him a withering glare, he drops his papers. My cheeks burn at their assumptions, and when I chance a glance at Anne, she seems equally flustered.

“Um,” Anne mumbles, “What exactly does Escell _do_? In the game he was just a battle mage champion…”

I nod, gaze focused on the floor ahead, “he is the Archmage of Porrima. He oversees all magic affairs, sits on the governing council…” I sigh, “politics.”

“Sounds powerful,” she cringes, and I nod.

“He is only the most powerful mage in all of Porrima.” I deadpan. Then I add, “Whoop-de-doo.”

She gives me an expression that—on anyone else—would have looked like pity, but on her…

I know by proxy of knowing her, that it is empathy, compassion.

_Concern_ for me.

It makes my heart stutter in my chest.

I slow to a stop in front of an ornate door. I inhale deeply.

“Are you nervous?” she asks. I huff. It is not a real question, just one to fill the air between us. I know she can tell I am nervous.

“of course not,” I roll my eyes, “I have only not seen my father since…oh, since before joining the Starsworn.” I sigh, “I renounced my family, declared I was no longer a member of house Anguis, and left.”

She frowns, disgust oozing from her stance as she crosses her arms, furrowing her brows, “doesn’t seem like he agrees.”

“No,” I grumble, “it does not.” I meet her gaze, “Allow me to do the talking,” her head turns to me, “my father is a serpent with a honeyed tongue. Pay no mind to anything he says.”

She nods, “I’ve dealt with serpents before,” she smiles, a challenge sparkling in brown eyes, “I’m not scared.”

I huff, smirking, relaxing, if only for a moment, “You should be.”

Then I turn to the door, shoulders tensing as I brace myself.

I swing the doors open, startling the collection of mages within the office. The guests throw my father a questioning look. For a moment, his demeanor is unreadable, before he smiles slightly and raps his ring on the table, signaling their dismissal. They do as they are told, and I defiantly cross my arms and raise my chin as they file past.

Anne glances after them, but quickly redirects her attention to Escell. She straightens her back and frowns, apparently incapable of even pretending to be disinterested.

She stops wringing her hands, instead folding them behind her back. I nearly smile.

I move to speak, “Father—”

He raises a hand, silencing me, as he begins to scribble on his parchment. A few moments pass. My impatience gets the better of me.

“Come now, Father,” I roll my eyes, “Surely you did not summon me so I may watch you work.” I scoff, “Why puppet me? How do I still have this blighted insignia? What do you _want_!?”

I can hear my own voice waver, and it sounds hollow to myself without my smug tone. Anne glances sideways at me, brows furrowed in concern. It hurts to ignore her.

“Are you finished?” he asks. Anne and I both tense. “Here for less than an hour and already making demands,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head, “you have not changed, Felix.”

I grit my teeth, hoping dearly that that is not true. That years of absence from this blighted house have changed nothing—haven’t changed me for the better.

“Still impatient, still wearing all black,” he smirks, cruel and cold enough to make Anne stiffen even more beside me, “my boy, mourning is meant to be a period, not a lifestyle.”

I flinch, and I can feel the way Anne bristles beside me, jaw clenching. Knowing her, I assume she wants to comment on his own color choice.

“As for your insignia, try as you may, but you cannot simply walk away from family.”

This time I hear the crunch of leather as Anne’s grip on her bracer tightens. When I risk a glance, her jaw is clenched so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if she chipped a tooth.

He stands, and I curl in on myself, and mutter, “…but I had it removed.”

He chuckles darkly, “I own every spellbreaker in this city,” he looks down his nose at me, “none would dare cross me.”

He levels me with a cool glare—

Then my heart leaps into my throat with anxiety as he addresses Anne. If looks could kill, I fear we may be dead already, but—

She matches his glare with an equally chilly one.

He smiles, “I do not believe we have met.”

She crosses her arms, and only two words leave her lips.

“I’m Anne.”

Her apparent defiance amuses him, and he smirks even wider.

“it is a pleasure to meet you, Anne.”

I huff, wanting to draw his attention from her quickly.

“Why have you summoned me here?” I ask, then smirk, “have you perhaps taken a sudden interest in necromancy?”

He sits back in his chair, stroking his chin.

“In a manner,” he steeples his fingers, “ever since the blood moon, a rouge necromancer has run amok, stealing spirits left and right. “

Anne and I share a fleeting look.

_The thief from Mournfall._

I smirk, “Then it is my expertise you seek. I knew the day would come when you would call upon my knowledge,” as I speak, I can practically hear Anne cringe.

Escell sighs, exasperated.

“No, you foolish boy,” he rolls his eyes, then glares, “I called you to ascertain your innocence. I see now you lack the wit to perform such feats, despite your appalling taste in magic. “

My hands shake—from anger, embarrassment or…something else, I can’t tell—and I ball them to fists in an attempt to will them to stop.

“I have allowed you to lick your wounds for long enough,” he continues, “You will come home for the duration of this investigation, hand over any necromantic artifacts in your possession, and cease this childish tantrum.” An evil smirk crosses his features. “it’s time you took your rightful place in house Anguis.”

I realize how hard I have been balling my fists, and with an outburst of rage I flex them:

“How—How dare you!?” I question, though we all know the answer. I feel rage boiling within me as my jaw clenches and I ball my hands to fists again. My shoulders shake and I can barely restrain myself.

I’m about to burst, rage building, when it all vanishes—

Replaced by surprise as Anne speaks up.

“That’s not fair,” she growls, drawing my gaze. I can see now the anger burning in her eyes, usually warm and welcoming, now alight with a barely contained _rage_. Her jaw is set tightly, fists clenched.

“You have no right to tell Felix what to do,” she says, voice surprisingly steady and confident. There is little room for discussion in her tone, “He doesn’t owe you a damn thing, and he didn’t come all this way just for you to insult him.”

She glares at Escell, who regards her silently, expression unreadable.

Then he lets out a humorless laugh. Anne only glares further.

“I only offer shelter from the coming storm,” he assures. “Whether Felix accepts or not is his decision.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. That’s a load of bullshit, and from the way Anne glares at him, I get the impression she thinks so too.

“I’m afraid I must decline your offer,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear, “if that is all, we will be leaving.”

“Very well,” he says, “once you cross that threshold I cannot protect you. Should you be formally accused of necromancy, I shall have to recuse myself,” he says. I scoff.

“Am I supposed to be surprised?” my gaze lowers, “When have you protected anything besides your own interest?”

I turn my back to him, and reach for the door handle.

“Felix.”

The sound of my name on his tongue gives me pause.

“your Papa and sister will be returning ere the solstice’s end. They miss you terribly.”

My entire demeanor darkens, and I can tell Anne notices by the worried expression she gives me as I drawl a response, not meeting either of their gazes.

“That’s low, even for you.”

And then we leave.

We distance ourselves a bit from the door before we begin to talk.

Well, we don’t talk immediately.

The door closes a few feet behind us, and I slow to a stop. Then I bury my face in my hands and make a strangled, angry noise in my throat.

A million thoughts swirl in my head, all of them overwhelming.

And then Anne’s hand is on my shoulder, and the fog clears.

She runs her hand over my shoulder. I lower my hands to cover my mouth, peeking over them sheepishly. She retracts her hand. I miss the warmth immediately. 

“I—I am sorry you had to witness that,” I remove my hands, folding my arms instead, “my father he is…”

“Horrible,”

Anne’s frustrated growl has my eyes going wide as I look up at her.

Her hands are on her hips, glare focused on a nearby pillar, lips a snarl.

“He’s egoistical and all kinds of shady! He’s uncaring and heartless, and he’s got no right to treat you like that!” she stomps a foot, and as her fists clench at her sides, I realize how much she’d been holding in.

However, with her next words the rage ebbs away, replaced by a deep seated sadness, “you’re a person,” her voice is desperate, “not…not something he can command as he likes.” Her brows furrow.

“And you’re smart,” my breath hitches as she continues to ramble, “you’re cocky but it’s for good reason!” our eyes meet and she takes a step forward, balling her fists, “You’re powerful and skilled and he is missing out if he can’t see how _good_ you are!”

I blink, eyes wide. She blinks. She averts her gaze, taking a step back and stretching her fingers.

“And you can walk away,” she says, “You can _always_ walk away.” She looks at me again, expression desperate and pained.

I feel my breath shudder as the weight of her words threatens to swallow me whole.

“I…” My cheeks are warm, and I avert my gaze in embarrassment as I clear my throat.

She offers me a small smile. “Hope I didn’t offend you.”

I smile, “I’m not offended. In fact,” I flush, “I find your candor rather…refreshing.”

_I love your candor,_ my mind whispers, _I love how enraged you are at him, I love how curious and smart you are, how observant, how caring, how empathetic, your humor—_

The thoughts, seemingly out of nowhere, threaten to overwhelm me, and I figure they must have been building up for quite some time now.

_Oh no._

I’m in **_love_** with her, aren’t I?

**Anne**

“I find your candor rather refreshing,” he says, blush high on his cheeks. He ducks his eyes, tucking a loose stand of hair behind an ear with a sigh. He pauses for a minute, expression unreadable. Then he takes a deep breath.

“Thank you for being there,” he says, smiling up at me, “I—I am glad you were there.”

He’s earnest, but anxiety chips at his voice. He’s clearly still wound up from the encounter, and I doubt jumping into action would relieve him of that weight.

“Why don’t we take a little break,” I shrug, taking his hand and tugging, “Maybe go on a walk somewhere that’s not,” I gesture vaguely, “here.”

He pulls away, shaking his head, “we must not tarry. There is still much to do.” He begins counting on his fingers, “Leads to investigate, spells to prepare…I should ward the fortress as well!”

“Woah woah woah,” I say, planting a hand on either of his shoulders, “you _need_ to take a break.”

He flushes, a small gasp escaping him as he tenses at the touch. Then his shoulders relax. He shakes his head, “I mustn’t rest until we’ve located the necromancer.”

He doesn’t pull away, though his gaze is faraway. I pull away. He seems to lean towards me to chase my touch—

I shake off the thought. I’m probably just imagining it.

I remain firm in my belief that we can’t move on without blowing off steam.

And so…I take a leap of faith.

“Nope!” I say, popping the ‘p’, “you and I are gonna blow off some steam!~”

Before he can even process what I’ve said, I grab his hand and rush through the halls, heading for the exit.

A few seconds later we are standing outside the castle, the wind tousling our hair. My gaze catches on Felix as the wind brushes it out of his face, and petals whip through the air. 

_He looks stunning, pouting amongst falling petals_.

I swallow down the thought as Felix asks:

“Why have you led me here?”

His arms are crossed, a brow quirked, and is feigns disinterests masterfully, and if I didn’t know him as well as I do now, I’d have shied away from my plans.

But I feel as though I’ve known him my whole life, and so, I proceed.

My lips quirk into a smile, “Aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you want to go ape shit?”

“I beg your pardon?”

I turn away, walking a few steps away from him, “back on Earth I was a barista,” I explain, “which means I was working in customer service. We had a lot of entitled folks who claimed to know better than we did, and I got my fair share of creeps trying to flirt with me. Despite that all, we are expected to smile and not get angry.”

There’s a frown in his voice, “how dreadful.”

I laugh, looking over my shoulder, “Yeah,” I fold my hands behind my back, wandering back to Felix, “but bottling up your feelings like that all the time isn’t healthy, so on breaks we’d go out back and yell or laugh or cry or stomp on empty boxes and milk cartons.”

I look at him with a grin, finding him blowing a loose strand of hair out of his eyes with a pout.

“You don’t actually expect me to yell, do you?”

“Scream or laugh!” I back away, spreading my arms, “whatever makes you feel better! Just let it out!”

He glances away, seeming to consider this, before shaking his head.

“I can’t,” he sighs, “It’s—It’s not proper!”

I frown.

“I know I’m not a noble, or of a high social status, no matter in what realm,” I say cautiously, “but…I know that bottling up your feelings isn’t a solution. You’ll just be tired and sad and tense all the time.” I cross my arms, “so enlighten me. How are you ‘supposed’ to deal with it?”

He huffs, “I am Porriman nobility,” he smirks, “we are supposed to drown our sorrows by drinking copious amounts of alcohol.”

“Again!” I exclaim, throwing my arms in the air, “Super duper unhealthy!”

“Or host frivolous, debauched parties to flagrantly display our wealth, and feign prosperity,” he says with a smirk.

I cross my arms and pout at him. He chuckles.

“Thank you for your concern,” he sighs, “but I shall lick my wounds out of sight, thank you.”

He turns to leave, but before he can get too far, I spot a rock on the ground. I drop down and scoop it up, then point in the direction of the wind, cock my arm back and—

“HIIIII-YAAAAH!”

\--throw the rock into the river.

I glance back to Felix excitedly, only to find him standing there, hair a mess in the wind, and a hand engulfed in green flames.

My breath catches.

_He’s beautiful._

_He’s **hot**. _

He hurls it towards the river, but in that moment the wind shifts, depositing it on a patch of flowers, and interrupting my thoughts. 

“Oh, hells!” Felix hisses, and I flinch away.

“Ah—” I bite my lip, running towards him, tugging at his sleeve as I go, “We should go!”

He nods, following me as I run towards the castle. Before we disappear inside, he chances a look at the burnt tulips, smirking as the fire fades and flickers out.

The smirk on his lips has my pulse spiking.

_He should look at me like that._

_What_.

We run back inside, laughing as we go, and as I chance a glance his way, my heart soars.

_I realize that I want to make him laugh all the time._

_…I realize I’d rather stay here, with him, for the rest of my life than go home, even though I have fans waiting for a new video. Not to mention Aya, Zari and Mi-Rae._

_…shit._

_I really don’t wanna leave him._

_…because I love him._

_Fuck._

As we find ourselves in the corridors again, we slow to a stop, laughing and attempting to catch our breath. And I try to brush off the realization I made seconds earlier.

Aside from the occasional glance our way, no one seems to have noticed the fire.

“Feeling better?” I ask, brow quirked and head cocked to the side. I stand on an elevated piece of the floor, leaning on a pillar as I try to calm my racing pulse.

He laugh, then nods, “Much better,” he meets my gaze, cheeks flushed with what I assume is mirth, “Thank you.” he tilts his head slightly, an easy smile on soft lips I desperately want to kiss.

He flushes more, “Let us never mention that again.”

I grin, but the expression is erased at the person clearing their throat behind Felix. He spins around to find a messenger of sorts. Felix jumps in surprise.

“We were here this whole time!” he exclaims.

I nearly face palm. The person frowns.

“Um…right. The Archmage requests your audience. Immediately.”

Felix frowns. He turns to me as the messenger begins walking.

“Go,” I nod, “I’ll be waiting. Don’t worry.”

He sighs. “I’ll only be gone a moment.”

He walks off, and I notice he’s walking far quicker than he did alongside me earlier.

…was he slowing down to match my pace?

With that heart-quickening thought, I lean against the wall, closing my eyes to focus on the sounds in the courtyard. Birds sing, the greenery rustles in the wind, and an unseen piano plays.

If I close my eyes, I can imagine my father playing, offering to teach me any moment.

…but I know that won’t happen.

And then a soft giggle tears me from my somber thoughts. I open my eyes, glancing around the courtyard—

And then I see Celena.

“Wait…” I mutter, taking a step forward, “Celena?”

She’s supposed to be asleep in Mournfall…but she’s here. _How_? _Why_?

She disappears around the corner and before I can process it, I’ve broken into a sprint to follow her.

_This is obviously an illusion. A trick._

…but I follow anyway.

For a few moments, I chase her through the castle, all the way outside. She stops midway down the path to town, and I gasp, nearly having reached her—

\--when a portal opens.

I let out a loud yelp, my breath stopping short and my heart jumping into my throat, as I suddenly stand on top of a spire, eyes focused on the-- now tiny-- courtyard below.

The only thing keeping me from falling is a hand wound into my cloak. At first I assume Felix, but when I turn, it’s not him looking back—

“Careful, Anne,” the person purrs, “it’s a long way down.”

This person is dressed in black robes, accentuated with gold. They have brown skin and pink hair, a few streaks of white adding softness to the look. Two horns peek out of their hair, and in place of normal ears are deer-ears. White freckles spot their face, and they are objectively, obviously attractive.

I frown at them.

Their presence doesn’t sit well with me.


	10. Back to Fathom

**Anne**

“Careful, Anne,” they purr, “It’s a long way down.”

I find my gaze on the ground dozens of feet below—anywhere but the stranger at who’s mercy I am. My heart is thundering in my chest, and fear grips my throat.

“Ah-ah, Anne,” they tut, drawing my wide eyed gaze, “chin up, eyes on me.”

I question how they know my name, but decide this isn’t really the place to question them. They manage to reel me in with a surprising amount of strength, and I mutter a thanks while willing my knees to stop shaking.

My companion tsks.

“Poor little lost soul, so very far from home,” they say. My skin tingles with vague familiarity.

Like…we’ve met somewhere else before. Though I think I’d remember meeting a deer person.

I find myself putting up my defenses, crossing my arms atop the roof. My gaze flickers down as I attempt to seem braver than I feel.

“Lost?” I scoff, “What makes you think I’m lost?”

Okay, not _that_ defensive, Anne.

Annoyance flickers in their eyes, and I figure that, yeah, that’s fair.

They force a smile, “Apologies for my poor manners. I assure you, I didn’t intend to offend you.”

“have we met?” I ask, the feeling that we _have_ annoyingly persistent.

They set a hand on their hip, winding a strand of white hair around one finger.

“We have not,” they hum, “Though, if it is conversation you seek, I suggest somewhere less…precarious.”

I nod, glancing over the edge before following him through the portal swirling behind him, which I barely even noticed in my panic.

We appear back in the courtyard, and my shoulders relax—I hadn’t noticed how tense they were. My heartbeat evens out, and I manage to take a deep breath, focusing on the sound of the nearby fountain.

I take a minute to gather myself, and come down from the adrenaline rush caused by my recent brush with death.

I’ve almost died a few times before, but I doubt it ever gets easy.

Regardless, my doubt and skepticism regarding my rescuer remain, and I turn to face them. 

“Who are you?” I ask, furrowing my brows at them, hands on my hips, “How do you know my name?”

They smile, bow deeply, then regard me with sparkling eyes.

“I’m naught but a weary wanderer, recently returned to his home. A reader of the constellations, beholden to the stars.”

I hum, crossing my arms. “A fortune teller, then?”

“Precisely.”

“And you saved me…because the stars told you to.”

He nods.

I cross my arms as he chuckles. I quirk a brow.

“When my morning reading foretold of a most auspicious meeting,” he winks, “well, I had not expected such a luminous vision of loveliness.”

I find myself flushing, eyes widening, not expecting to be _flirted_ with by the one who seemed annoyed by me mere minutes ago.

Then he glances around before sliding closer and dropping his voice to a whisper. Instinctively, I take a step back.

“As the sun alights from it’s lofty zenith, the sea and streets shall run red as the sky above. And you, dear traveler from afar, you shall discover that the unseen knife slices deepest.”

There’s a hint of a threat to his voice, and I take a moment to digest the words.

I frown.

“Is that a warning, or a threat?” I can’t help but furrow my brows at him.

His eyes crinkle with amusement, but he doesn’t get to speak before I hear a familiar voice that draws my gaze and has me relaxing.

“Anne!”

I look towards the bushes, and find Felix clambering over a bush, pausing to tug his leg free from where it catches in the greenery.

“I’ve searched everywhere for you!” he gasps, looking frayed and a little panicked as he hops over the low stone that separates the garden from the hallway. He lands softly, hands coming to hover over my arms. He still looks shocked as he pulls his arms back to himself, cheeks burning, “I—I feared my father had you kidnapped, or turned into a kettle, or worse.”

Why would he have me turned into a kettle? Because I spoke out about his shitty beliefs of family?

“What are you doing here alone?” Felix asks, and I blink.

“Alone? I’m not--” I whip my head around, but the fortune teller is gone.

I frown.

“it’s…” I sigh, “a long story.”

…but I tell it regardless.

When I recount my…sudden relocation to the roof, Felix’s face goes pale. His eyes widen and fear settles on his features.

…he looks terrified, actually, and that realization hits me like a truck.

“You almost died!?” Felix asks, voice rising an entire octave, “and—and you only now mention it!?”

I wince, averting my gaze, scratching the back of my head, “okay, so I might’ve buried the lede,” I cross my arms, pouting, “but…it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve almost died.”

He frowns, “What’s that supposed to mean? Do I have to keep you on a leash or something!?”

I flush, finding my train of thought promptly derailed.

“I—” I try, but I cannot get my brain to form a coherent sentence that doesn’t end with ‘I’d love for you to put me on a leash’. 

…that’s an unexpectedly horny thought.

“Did anything else happen in my absence?” Felix asks me, saving me from my flabbergasted and flustered state.

“There was a fortune teller,” I report, earning a frown from Felix. “He gave me a warning of sorts, but it felt more like a threat.”

“Let me guess,” he rolls his eyes, then, in a pompous tone, “I sense darkness and despair. Your aura is aubergine. Your tardigrade is retrograde. Beware shovels and kumquats.”

I snort, “Should’a known you’d be a skeptic.”

“if diviners truly existed,” he shrugs, “I imagine they’d do a great deal more than peddle petty fortunes and horoscopes for coin.”

I laugh, “is now a bad time to confess that I do tarot?”

He freezes. “What?”

I nod, then shrug, “not really like, fortune telling. I use it for writing mainly, because the cards tell a story. Sometimes I do readings for people I meet, to figure out if they’re…” I deflate a little, remembering how I failed to do so with Isaac. I bite my lip, “if they’d be hurtful to me.”

He frowns, “I feel as though there’s a story there.”

I roll my shoulders, “just a…bad experience. A toxic ex boyfriend, is all.”

His features soften, arms falling to his sides. “I am sorry you had to go through that.”

I briefly see an image of Isaac flash in my mind, but shake it off.

“It’s done,” I sigh, “long over and buried with all the other failures of my love life.”

He quirks a brow, “the others?”

I wink, placing a hand on my hip, “ah-ah, not here my dear mage.”

He blushes, huffing, “very well then. We should be returning to Fathom anyway. Come,” and with that, he leads me back to Fathom.

Xxx

After meeting with Escell we quickly returned to Fathom Tower. We’d agreed that the spirit thief was to be prioritized over getting me home.

_Not that I was in a hurry to get home anyway._

As soon as the wards around the tower come down and we march inside, the sound of skittering feet grabs my attention.

“Uh, Felix?” I say, tugging on his shirt, “do you…hear that?”

“Hm?” he asks, turning to me with a quirked brow. He pauses to listen, then his shoulders slump. “Ah.” He smiles, “There you are,” he says, peering at the floor behind me. I turn to find a peculiar sight.

An opossum, a bearded dragon, and a rat are standing there, one atop of the other, looking up at Felix.

“What,” I blurt, feeling a little shocked.

He blinks at me, then flushes. He averts his gaze, “Ah. Did I not…mention my familiars?”

My eyes widen. “Nooo,” I drawl, “you did not.”

“Ah,” he bites his lip, “pardon me. Ahem,” he clears his throat. The critters skitter across the floor to him. He lifts the opossum, letting the dragon and the rat climb his sleeve. “These are Ophelia, Macbeth and Babayaga,” he says, gesturing to the opossum, the rat, and the bearded dragon.

“Huh,” I say dryly.

For a moment I just stare. Felix clears his throat.

“If you aren’t comfortable I can send them off—”

“No!” I exclaim, stepping forward, the volume surprising us both. I step back, clearing my throat, “I uh. Have no problem with them.” I offer a smile, “I’ve never seen a opossum or a bearded dragon up close though,” I risk stepping forward, “can I pet them?”

Felix hums, “if they let you.”

I hold my hand up to Babayaga is perched on Felix’s shoulder, and I move forward to hold my hand to her nose. She sniffs it, and after a beat of silence, she licks it. I smile. I move my hand to scratch her chin—something she seems to appreciate.

I move to smile at Felix—

\--and my eyes widen when I realize how close I’m standing to him.

I can see a light blush dusting his cheeks from this close, and my own face feels faintly warmer than before, and my lips oddly dry. From this close I can see the black paint on his eyelids, and smell the slight scent of old books and ozone and something I can’t place beyond the fact that it’s floral.

I nearly forget to breathe.

I swallow hard, then move to repeat my approach to Babayaga with Ophelia curled in his arms.

**Felix**

She moves to greet Babayaga, and I hold my breath with her sudden close proximity.

From this close I can see her brown eyes, speckled with lighter spots, yet deep and mesmerizing, deep enough to drown in. I can see her lashes brush against the pale color surrounding her eyes. Her lashes are long and I bet I’d feel them on my skin if we got just a _little_ closer.

I feel my face burn at the thought.

I can’t help but take the moment in which she is distracted by the dragon on my shoulder to look at her lips, painted a darker shade of brown, looking soft to the touch. From this close I can smell her, a bit of cinnamon and earth and…coffee.

She smells _grounding_.

There’s a faint smell of magic surrounding her as well, and I can tell the more she uses magic the more it seeps from her. Magic runs through her blood, which is a mystery of itself, seeing as she is from Earth.

Regardless, it’s intoxicating, and I nearly lose track of time breathing her in.

Then our eyes meet, and I can feel heat warming my face.

She blinks a few times, before moving to pet Ophelia, though she bites her lip, breathing becoming a little strained.

Regretfully, she finally steps away.

I avert my gaze, clearing my throat, “We…we should. The study. Yes.”

“Yeah,” she says, voice airy and light as she nods, “we should…yeah.”

I nod, before turning on my heel and leading us to my study.

We walk in relative silence, allowing for me to clear my head a bit.

It doesn’t take long for my worries to settle in once more, knowing how close Anne brushed with the spirit thief while in my father’s palace. Not to mention the fact that my father called me back into his office, only to interrogate me about Anne.

He’d asked if she was from around Porrima, muttering something about her having some other woman’s eyes. He of course, also wanted to know what Anne means to me. Naturally I didn’t respond beyond the fact that I am teaching her magic. It’s none of his business.

But the fact that Anne felt…familiar to him is…perplexing. And I’m concerned about his curiosity towards her.

I frown as we approach my workshop.

**Anne**

“I did not expect the spirit thief to attack you while in Porrima,” Felix says, storming into the workshop. He drops Ophelia on the couch where Stella is, and as he rummages through cabinets, Macbeth and Babayaga clamber off his shoulders and onto the shelves. “It was foolish of me not to prepare even a few simple protection spells, knowing full well what we are facing.”

Felix tosses out a variety of spell components—chalk, crystals, candles, the usual--which I all hastily catch.

“I’m going to assume we’re warding the tower?” I ask, standing straighter, running my nails over Macbeth’s back. Felix nods.

“Yes, for our protection, and to safeguard my research.”

“You’re worried about Lem…,” I wrack my brain, but unfortunately I’ve already forgotten the full name. “…your book. Makes sense.”

He jumps up, spins and exclaims, brows furrowed in worry—

“And about you!”

My heart leaps, skipping a beat as I snap my mouth shut. His eyes widen, cheeks darkening.

I point at myself, “…me?”

I must look shocked enough to warrant his flushed cheeks returning to their usual color.

“Of course,” he says, seemingly taken aback by the fact that his concern for me startled me, “you are…you are…” he falters, biting his lip, “You are my _friend_ ,” he says finally, seeming to struggle to decide what to say, “and very dear to me. I cannot let harm come your way, not after essentially trapping you here.” he frowns, “you saw Celena…her soul stolen, body possessed, and now in a state of deep sleep.”

_Dead_. 

She is, by all means, for the time being, dead. In a coma, you could say.

Felix takes a deep breath, “I would not be able to live…with myself, if that were to happen to you.”

My shoulders slump. He stands, slipping on his glasses as he begins to sift through books, dropping them on the floor or placing them on the shelf again. I quirk a crooked smile, head tilting to the side.

I walk over and pick up two books he’d dropped. “Need some help?” I ask. Stella helpfully bats at a bundle of dried herbs, Ophelia looks up at us from next to her. Felix glances from them to me.

“I—I don’t know where to begin,” he stutters, “There are countless techniques to consider. Do I start with wards, charms, sigils?” he sighs, “This is all just so very…” he groans, leaning his forehead against the shelf, “…distressing.”

I purse my lips, depositing the books on a nearby table. I turn back to him.

“Oh, Felix,” I place a hand on his shoulder, and he peeks at me from under his lashes, “I’m like your apprentice, right? Let me help. What do you need?”

“An endless wellspring of magic,” he deadpans, then, a little softer, “or…a pot of Thuban black tea with those…sesame spice biscuits they serve at the arboretum.”

“No clue what that is,” I hum, “but tea? That I can do,” I say, finger gunning at him. His eyes widen. He frowns.

“I must sound like a spoiled brat,” he says, clutching a book tightly to his chest. I forgo the urge to say ‘yeah, and you are, but I am too’.

“Please,” he says, shaking his head, “pay no mind to my frivolous complaints.”

I huff, “like I said, I’m happy to help. If you’d just _let_ _me_.”

“I…” he stutters, “I couldn’t possibly ask you to make me _tea_ of all things.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

“Anne—”

“ _Felix_.”

The sharp tone in my voice shuts him up as his lips clamp shut, eyes widening. I’ll admit, I hadn’t meant to sound quite so…commanding. Or stern.

“I’m making you tea,” I say.

His mouth drops open. He scoffs and removes his glasses, “this is utterly unnecessary. Surely you aren’t being serious.”

I lean closer, looking him dead in the eye, ignoring my heart fluttering at his surprised expression.

“Dead serious.”

I rest my hands on his shoulders, walking him back into the couch, purring:

“And you are going to relax.~”

His legs bump into the couch, but he remains standing—stubbornly. His face flushes, and it makes it hard to keep a stern face.

He frowns, “now is not the time to stand by idly.”

I furrow my brows, our gazes still held, and I see his resolve melt with the parting of his lips. I smirk, pushing his shoulders down.

His cheeks burn, “What—What are you doing?”

As he asks this however, he relents, and I lean over him as he sinks onto the couch, my hands pinning him as they come to rest on the back of the couch on either side of his face. Our faces are so close I feel his exasperated breath on my lips as he pouts. 

…I really want to kiss him.

“Satisfied?” he asks. He wears a grumpy expression, but his face is really, really red.

…my face burns.

“Very,” I say with a huff. I back away, “Take off your coat,” I say as I slip mine off, “it’s not like we’ll be leaving anytime soon.” He pouts, but does as I say. I take the garments and dispose them on a nearby chair.

“Must you fuss over me so?” he scoffs. I smirk, throwing him a quirked brow.

“As if you don’t enjoy it.”

He flushes, and I make my way around the couch, to the kitchenette.

**Felix**

Anne disappears behind me, and I need a moment to digest what just happened, and calm my erratic heartbeat.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask as I turn to rest my arm on the back of the couch, looking over it at her. Stella and Ophelia clamber up the couch to join me. I spot Babayaga and Macbeth climbing onto the counter in front of Anne. It feels oddly normal for us to banter this way. Normal in a way I can’t really compare to anything.

She shrugs, then looks over her shoulder at me, throwing me a smirk, “You’re smart. I’m sure you can find a way to chill.”

She turns back to investigate the stove, and I take a moment to recover from the effect her smugness had on me.

I see her refill the kettle with water, and watch as she places it on the stovetop. She moves away to get a better view of the kitchen, probably searching for a way to turn on the stove. She’s clearly deep in thought as she scratches the back of her neck, rubbing her left toe on her right calf.

An idea comes to mind to get back at her for her smugness moments ago, and I smirk as I snap my fingers. The stove flickers to life with the fire I conjure under it.

Clearly startled, Anne whips around, eyes wide. I smirk.

“You’re welcome.”

Her cheeks darken, but she’s quick to play it off by putting her hands on her hips and pouting at me. I offer her a grin and bat my eyelashes, and she rolls her eyes, turning back to the kitchen. I pick up a book lying nearby and begin to read.

After awhile, the water starts to boil.

“how strong?” Anne asks.

“Oh you know,” I hum, glancing up, “Suitably so.”

She winks, playfully saluting, “Yes sir.”

She turns away, thankfully missing how my cheeks catch on fire—and how I press my legs together. I doubt she misses the strangled noise that escapes my throat, though.

_How can she already have such an effect on me?_

**Anne**

After a few minutes, I’ve finished preparing the tea, and I begin searching for a cup. I’m about to ask Felix, when one pops into existence beside my face. I smile at him, and take the cup and fill it.

I carry it over to Felix, “Here you go.”

Without looking up from his book, he reaches for it. in the process, our hands brush, sending lightning sparks through my fingers, and my pulse quickening.

“Oh!” he gasps, finally looking up, “Apologies!”

His hands are colder than most, and the touch makes us both seem to have forgotten how to use our hands.

And then his hands are cupping mine.

“Your hands are warm,” he sighs, smiling, calmer than I’ve ever seen him.

…how long has it been since someone’s touched him?

…I hate to break the calm.

“The cup is hot,” I shrug. His eyes widen.

“Oh! Oh!” he quickly takes it from me, and I rub my hands on my pants. He raises the cup, then pauses. He regards me with a smile, sending my heart to it’s knees, “I should thank you,” he hums, “you always seem to know how to cheer me up when I’m down. Makes me wonder how I ever managed without you.”

The way he smiles at me…I nearly forget to breathe. The softness and fondness in his eyes is impossible to miss, and I find it hard to speak.

Somehow I manage.

I grin, heart thrumming loudly in my ears. “Course. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

He smiles at that, finally taking a sip. His eyebrows shoot up. “It’s perfect.”

I giggle, “I told you! I’m good at my job!”

He laughs, “Yes, yes you are, I admit.” He tilts his head, “and not half bad at magic, either.”

I flush, running a hand over my neck, face feeling very warm.

“After I’ve had my tea,” he says, “we get to work.”

I grin, nodding, “sounds perfect.”


End file.
